#but. things look really bleak right now. fuck

[noonbeam17]

goddamn dude. all that history gone

[exopelagic]

this election feels so hollow even though it’s likely ostensibly gonna be a good outcome. labour really just sucks fucking ass rn huh

[peachesofteal]

you satisfy the urge to see Ghost with little babies and simultaneously make me want more of him with little babies

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader

He sleeps like the dead on and off for the almost three days.

Uninterrupted, undisturbed, face buried in a pillow, television cranked as loud as he can get away with, the noise one of the only things capable of lulling him to sleep and keeping him under when he’s not on an op or in an active engagement zone. He gets up to eat, use the bathroom or shower, climb the four floors to the roof to smoke, but otherwise, he sleeps. He eats, and sleeps, and repeats this very simple routine, as he always does when he’s here, until it’s interrupted one night, by the tap of a hesitant knock on his door.

The sound freezes his blood, every nerve ending in his body lighting up in alert, muscles priming for an offensive position. He finds the one of many guns stashed in the flat on his way to open the door, mask slipping over his face, holding the weapon tucked carefully behind his body as he looks through the peephole to find… you. The girl from the roof, the baby, Emmaline, in your arms, your eyes nervously darting down the hallway before looking back to his door expectantly. Shit.

“I’m sorry.” You rush out immediately when he opens it, peering up at him with exhausted eyes. Emma is against your chest, and one of your hands cradles her head, the other under her bum, while you bounce her up and down while also rocking back and forth. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the arse but, is there any way I can ask you to turn your TV volume down a bit?” You try to smile but it straightens into a grimace and then your eyes dart to the ground before looking back up at him. “We uh, share a wall.” You tilt your head to the left, to the unit next to his and his eyes widen. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to bother you, I’m not trying to be that neighbor but-“ Jesus Christ. You share a wall with him? His mind drifts to an image of you asleep in your bed, tucked up under your covers all sweet, lashes laying delicately on your cheeks.

“Of course. It’s not a bother.” The baby cries in response, a broken wail making her lower lip tremble and you pat her back soothingly until she quiets, little hiccups coming from her mouth while she rubs her face into your shirt.

“Thank you.” You’re still bouncing, still swaying, and he’s mystified, watching you stroke a gentle finger through her fine curls. She yawns sleepily against you, and the tension leaks from your body a bit, spine slumping slightly, shoulders relaxing a notch. You look down at her, checking for something he doesn’t understand, before raising your radiant, tired face back up to his. He really, really wishes he wasn’t holding a handgun behind his back right now. “They told me, when I rented… that you weren’t around much. I thought it’d be a good fit since…” you gesture with an eyebrow towards Emmaline, and he nods.

“I travel for work.” His voice sounds more raspy than normal, a byproduct of too much sleep, something you look like you’d probably kill to have. Fuck. He’s been blasting his television while you’ve been up with a screaming baby for two bleedin’ days.

“Right, well I hope we won’t be too noisy for you, when you are home.” A door slams on third floor above the two of you, the bang of it swinging shut too loud and you tense, something bleak flickering across your face before it’s chased away with a half-forced smile. “Anyway… thanks, again.”

“Of course.” He repeats it, like it’s obvious, and then just as you turn away, he remembers something: “I’m Simon.” You glance back at him, timid smile tugging at your lips, your own name falling from your mouth like you’re giving him a gift.

“Oh, and you know Emmaline already.” You lightly tease, and he nods, his own lips lifting in an almost smile behind the mask in response.

[hazbinwhoree]

Guardian Angel

Part 1/3 Part 2

A/N: Starting a series where f!reader is the child of a demon and a human and Adam’s been tasked with keeping an eye on her. Please leave requests!

“It has recently come to my attention that a demon and a human have reproduced,” Sera announced. 

Adam cocked an eyebrow. “No shit. For real?”

“The spawn is already grown. So far she hasn’t caused any trouble so I do not see the need for actions further than simply keeping an eye on her.”

“Okay and what does that have to do with me?” Adam asked, taking a long sip from his drink.

“You’re going to watch her.”

Adam spit out his drink. “Sorry, what?”

“You’re going to be her guardian angel,” Sera smirked. Adam’s jaw dropped idignantly. “Do I have to?” He whined.

“Yes.”

That’s how Adam found himself on Earth, stalking some random demon/human hybrid.

Although despite his apathy, she wasn’t just some random, a demon/human hybrid was almost unheard of. She was the third documented instance of that happening.

But as far as he could tell, she led a boring, painfully bleak life. Adam almost felt bad for her. She seemed really depressed. But his job was getting boring. Her routine was always the same. Work, sleep, eat, shower. It seemed that the hybrid was completely unaware of her origin and the powers she possessed. It made Adam’s job easy. Easy and boring.

He started fucking with her, using his ability to be invisible to the human eye in order to fuck with things in her apartment to mess with her head.

One day, while her roommate was out, she stood in the middle of her room, staring at nothing. “Come out you annoying fuck!” She called out. It took Adam by surprise. “I know someone is here,” she hissed. “And you’ve been fucking with me, and it’s pissing me off, and I know you’re here right now, so show yourself!”

Adam debated for a moment. Sera had just said to watch over her, she’d never said it had to be no contact. In fact, Adam was pretty sure Sera would prefer he try to bring the hybrid to the light, but she chose the wrong angel for that task.

Tired of watching her while she was unawares, Adam let himself appear to her. He appeared behind her, just to fuck with her one more time. She turned and jumped, and Adam snickered. To his surprise, she recovered rather quickly.

“What the fuck are you?”

Adam was once again taken aback, and then offended. “I’m an angel, babes, could you not tell by the halo and wings?”

“Well you look like a demon," she replied.

Adam scoffed indignantly. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Who are you and why have you been following me?”

“I’m Adam. Like, first man ever, Adam.”

“Wow, I’m so impressed.”

“And who the fuck are you, bitch?”

“Shouldn’t you know that since you’ve been following me?”

Adam was seething. “Yeah well I didn’t give enough of a shit to remember your name when Sera told me.”

The hybrid narrowed her eyes. Adam narrowed his. The attitude on this bitch! He hadn’t seen such life in her in the weeks he’d been watching her. He definitely didn’t enjoy seeing her come to life like this. Totally not (he did).

“Well you might as well tell me cause you’re stuck with me now that you can see me.” Adam smirked.

She huffed. “(Name). I’m (Name). Why am I stuck with you?”

“Because my job is to follow you, babe, orders from the Seraphim herself.”

“But why?”

Adam thought about fucking with her for a moment, before spitting out the truth. “Because you’re a Cambion, and Cambions are dangerous.”

(Name) blinked at him. “The fuck is a Cambion?”

“A demon/human love child.”

“What, so you’re saying one of my parents is a demon and I’m like, half a demon?”

“Basically.”

They stood in silence for a moment while (Name) processed this information.

“So,” Adam broke the silence. “What’s for dinner?”

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: dark! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: yandere behavior, obsession, stalking, gaslighting, drugging, kidnapping. This is only fiction! Never tolerate creepy behavior

A/n: so this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I decided to finish it as a part of writing event. I’m so proud of this one, like omg, look at me being a writer😆

Your head hurt. That was the first thing you registered as you started to slowly regain consciousness. Your face scrunched up in a grimace of pain as you let out a soft groan, your throat sore, only increasing your discomfort.

You tried to raise your hands to rub on your eyes in attempt to soothe the stinginess - point word - tried. You very soon found that your movements had been restricted by something that felt very much like rope. And not only your hands - your legs were bound tightly together at your knees and ankles, not allowing you to move.

- You’re awake now? - soft voice droned on, making you tense up impossibly more. The most terrifying thing was that you knew exactly who this voice belonged to.

You squinted into direction from which the sound came, your vision still blurry and hazy from the drug. Thankfully, the room was dark, small lamp on the bedside table was the only source of soft yellow light. You could only perceive a bulky figure sitting on a chair not too far from you, piercing blue eyes gazed at you unblinking.

- König..? What’s going on? - you asked, your voice was hoarse and weak from long lack of usage.

Suddenly, memories flashed before your eyes; it was late evening - about 11 pm - as you were walking towards convenience store not so far from your apartment.

You had been in a state of constant desolation lately - days were bleak and boring, blurring into one with their unchanging routine, sending you in deeper state of depression.

Breakup with your boyfriend took a toll on you. You loved König, you really did. Considered spending your life with him, even. But the longer your relationship lasted, the more of real him you saw - controlling, obsessive, manipulative.

It all started out small - constant checking in, questions about your whereabouts and your company, him following accompanying you wherever possible. Surely, it restricted your freedom, but König didn’t mean anything bad! He was just worried for you, concerned about your safety! Is that so bad?

So you let it slip. You overlooked his more controlling tendencies, agreed to giving him passwords to all your social media even, so König could make sure that “no freaks were texting you”. It unnerved you, but he didn’t mean anything bad, did he? He was just being a good caring boyfriend!

And it was like an avalanche. Constant calls and messages, controlling what you were wearing, unwillingness to leave you alone even for a few minutes - that and many other things made a list of what your boyfriend did, only adding to your anxiety. But you tolerated it all, because you loved him. Once, digging through your phone you found something that looked very much like a tracking app. You were outraged. But when you asked König about it - rather aggressively - he just blinked at you with wide innocent blue eyes, saying that maybe you installed it on accident? You know all these bots nowadays, you can never be safe online now. But you know that he would never do something like that, right? How could you even think of something like that?! König was genuinely offended, and you naturally hastened to apologize for your unwise accusations, trying to make it up to him. Deleting this app seemed to be impossible, though, no matter how many times you tried.

Last drop was, however, when König nearly blew out your best friend’s front door, threatening them to keep away from you. “This bitch is putting some fucked up ideas about me into your head” - was his reasoning. And that was it - hell was set free. You had an ugly shouting marathon for hours to no end, with lots of tears and profanities, ending up with a harsh breakup and you blocking König everywhere, cutting him off completely.

And since then you haven’t spoken a word to him. Of course, he came to your apartment countless times, sent numerous gifts and bouquets of your favorite flowers, practically begging for forgiveness. But you knew better than that - it happened before, and even if you forgave him this time, in a few months time everything would be just as it was before.

At present, you were walking down a sidewalk, asphalt damp under your shoes from recent rain. You needed to get some groceries, since your fridge was just as empty as your stomach; and this late of an hour promised as little people around as possible, saving you from unfavorable company of men.

Just as you rounded a corner - a pair of huge strong arms - obviously male - seized your sensibly smaller body; a weird-smelling cloth was pressed tightly over your mouth and nose. In your panicked state you tried to fight back, not registering your own breathing, inhaling lungfuls of drug. Darkness filled your vision rapidly as dizziness overcame all your senses. You felt consciousness quickly slipping away from you, neon lights of convenience store shone brightly before your eyes still.

Panic seized your throat and it was becoming harder to breathe - you tugged and pulled on rough ropes around your limbs, trying to either snap them or slip out of tight confines, thrashing around the mattress relentlessly. König didn’t do anything, just watched you silently with his icy orbs from his spot, not exactly amused nor impressed by your behavior. Very soon fatigue took over your already exhausted body, you lay motionless once again, panting heavily as you glared at König’s dark form, vision still unfocused from the drug.

- Drop that. I made sure knots are tight, - he said coldly, continuing to observe you with a sharp stare of a hawk.

You just glared silently, trying to catch your breath. Your body felt heavy - extremely so, as if every limb was made out of lead and not flesh and bone; moving as much as one finger seemed harder than anything and you wondered how you managed to thrash around in the first place. Your head was aching irritably, not allowing you to think clearly - it had to be the side effect of whatever that was König made you inhale previously.

- König, do you realize what you did? - you managed to choke out, panic crashing over you in waves as realization of your current situation finally hit you. Hot tears streamed down your face as you tried to breathe evenly, but it did little to calm you down.

König just leaned in, cupping the side of your face with one of his huge hands, his thumb swiped under your eye, wiping salty tears away with calloused fingertip. You closed your eyes, averting your face from his touch. And oh, he didn’t like it.

König gripped bottom part of your face, force of his grip squeezed your cheeks together as he turned your head forcibly towards himself, making you squeal quietly as you faced him.

- You tried to leave me. And you are very dear to me. I can’t let this happen, - König explained, his voice calm, alarmingly calm. His scarred lips were pressed into a thin pale line, giving a little clue of his rage.

It was another side of him, completely different from what you used to see - a calm, ruthless and collected one; one that you could only imagine, based off some rumors you’ve heard about him and small cracks in his friendly mask König was too careless to hide from you during your relationship. You got glimpses of it a few times - when some drunk dude tried to hit on you when you and König were in the bar together, or when you mentioned how nice one of your male coworkers was. You always made one brutal mistake of brushing it all off, blaming it on König’s tiredness or fierce personality. And that’s where it led you.

- So what are you gonna do now? Keep me here forever? - you tried to scoff, but your trembling voice was way too weak to do so.

König cocked his eyebrow at your brave words, ghost of a smile played on his pursed lips. He shrugged lightly, grip of his fingers on your cheeks eased as he caressed them endearingly with rough fingertips, tickling you slightly.

- If that’s what it takes to keep you with me - then yes, - he shrugged slightly, propping his chin on his free hand, not a single emotion could be deciphered in his voice. These words made your blood turn cold.

He heaved a deep sigh at your frightened expression and trembling body, letting go of your face and reclining into his chair.

- Schatzi, you know I hate this just as much as you do. You think I’m enjoying this? - he asked, his tone was somehow sad and exhausted. But yes, you indeed thought, knew he enjoyed this. You kept silent, choking on your silent sobs, now being extremely aware of thick ropes digging painfully into your soft skin. Panic attack was full on taking over you, suffocating you with numerous sobs, body tensing and shaking incessantly, tears blurring your thus poor vision.

- Now, this all may end if you stop being a little bitch and start acting like an actual adult. We didn’t finish our conversation that last time, and you blocking me everywhere doesn’t make things any easier, - König said, his ice-blue eyes boring holes in your head. But you couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind his words, your brain short-circuited with fear and panic, turning you into a weeping shaking mess.

König heaved another sigh. He got up from his chair, taking a few steps towards your bed and dropping to his knees in front of it, so that his head was right against yours. His hand once again came to caress the side of your face affectionately, tangling into your messy hair and massaging your scalp, cooing soothingly at you.

- I know baby, I know. You need to rest. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. And then, once you’re strong and rested, we’ll talk again. And we’ll sort everything out and be happy again, just like we used to be, hmm? - König murmured softly as he always did to calm you down during hard times. But it only made you weep harder.

König pressed his lips against your cold forehead, leaving a chaste kiss as he inhaled lungfuls of your scent. He then nuzzled his forehead against yours, mumbling quietly:

- You can’t imagine how much I missed you. How could you do this to me? Hurt me so much even though I only want the best for you?

He peppered your face with small kisses, whispering small nothings and caressing your shuddering back. This made you feel nauseous. Your consciousness started to slip away again, your vision darkening rapidly. And just before blacking out, you heard König’s voice, one you loved so dearly once, utter:

- You’re mine, always will be. I’ll make sure of that.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writers some love, we live off feedback<3

[immoralkombat]

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

[neopuppy]

Arcade (M)

pairing. Jeno x female reader

genre. hmm what’s all this then? anyway…… smut, M/F, pwp

warnings. vaginal/backdoor unprotected rough sex, rimming, non-consented camera use, you don’t have to read Switch+Chain to understand but it might help. minors DNI.

wc. 6k+

now playing. Arcade//NCT Dream

It’s hard.

It’s been hard actually, attempting to commit to some type of relationship while living in the same household as your.. whatever he was.

First love, the man who took your virginity, your boyfriend's father.

It doesn’t help that things have been really tense between you and Jeno ever since your mom refused to move out, claiming Johnny needs to compensate her for uprooting her life with false hope of a future together.

He acquires the guest room most nights, or…doesn’t come home, and you notice— you notice it every time. When he shows up the next day, neck garnished with bitten bruises poorly hidden under his collar, lips swollen red from whatever he got up to. The avoidance he graces you with— never once meeting your gaze as he passes by on the way to his office. It’s been about a month of this; and on top of it all your mother refuses to let you enjoy any alone time with Jeno.

‘I don’t approve of this.’ She repeats daily, shoving between the two of you sitting together in the living room. ‘You are not allowed to date this horrid insolent boy.’

Jeno can’t stand it either, not helping his case with his rude and disrespectful responses, arguing back and forth with her about how this is technically his house and she can leave.

“I can’t deal with your mom anymore.” He whispers. It’s 1am, also the time your mother typically passes out after raiding Johnny’s wine cabinet. Keeping you up later every night as you have to wait to sneak to each other’s bedrooms. “It’s been two weeks.”

Two weeks since you fucked.. in the upstairs bathroom at Mark’s house, some Saturday night kick back. Even then the two of you hadn’t mentioned your.. situationship to anyone. Jeno’s friends finding it peculiar how often he’s canceled on them to hang out with his… whatever you are.

“We can try a quiet activity..” you tease, tickling under his shirt.

“I can’t even fuck you in my room anymore without her breathing down my neck.” Jeno scowls, pushing his nose against your forehead. “Besides, we both know how loud you get, baby.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“I have an idea,” Jeno had already brought up getting a hotel before, foregoing the thought as his bank account stared back at him looking bleak; failing to mention that his father had cut off the weekly allowance he’d become accustomed to after their blow up(you know, the one about you). “Haechan just became a keyholder at that arcade place he works at.”

“You want to play video games, right now?”

“No no, I’m gonna ask him for a favor.” Jeno smiles, pulling you close to his chest. “For us.”

“Where are you going?”

Your foot tracks come to a halt just as you reach the front door, more dressed up than usual. Nothing much, a short velvet dress with lace trimming, something Jeno picked out from your closet without knowing who gifted it to you in the first place.

Placing your hand on your chest in mock-shock, you gasp turning to face Johnny. “Oh my God, I haven’t heard your voice in so long— I’d forgotten you even live here.”

“I remember this dress.” Johnny’s gaze traces down, stopping at your chest for a second too long as his mouth tweaks to one side. “You were supposed to wear it—“

“Yeah.” You interrupt, reaching for the hem floating just under the jut of your buttcheek to play with. “For our next weekend together, you said I looked pretty when I tried it on.”

“You do,” Johnny’s eyebrows come together, trailing down lower to your strappy heels and manicured toes. “You look beautiful, sexy. Gorgeous as always.”

“..do you miss me?” The question comes out unexpectedly, biting down on the sides of your tongue after asking, nervously pinching your thighs together as he nods; hand running through his loose hair and tugging at the ends.

“Of course I do.” Johnny nearly smiles, the corners of his lips pointing up, none of it reaching his dark eyes continuing to stay low and avoid your face. “But you’re going to meet my son right now, aren’t you?”

“No!” You snap to answer too fast, clearing your throat and swiping your hair back. “I’m meeting my friends.”

“You don’t have friends.” Johnny scoffs a laugh jokingly, shrugging half-apologetically. “Your mom asked me to make sure you stay away from Jeno, you know.”

“He’s my boy—friend..” you say hesitantly. “I think..”

“Yes, you do seem to be a pair.” Johnny hums, leaning against the hallway wall. “It’s almost as if your mother won’t leave my son's side and Jeno won’t leave yours. I don’t believe I’ve seen you once without him around ever since..”

“Ever since we broke up?”

“We didn’t break up.” Johnny’s fast to correct. “We were never together, not you and I anyway.” He waves off, more sluggish in appearance now as you step closer and take in his tired expression. “I should have left you alone.”

“What do you me—“

“You should get going, Jeno’s been waiting outside for a while now.” Johnny cuts you off, motioning to the front door. “Probably getting annoyed knowing him.”

“Did you ever love me?” You know you shouldn’t, but Johnny’s right; if Jeno’s not plastered to your back then your mom’s hovering around with her nose deep in your business. Over the last few weeks cuddled up next to Jeno wide awake as he softly snores you can’t stop your mind from spinning, asking questions you never received answers to.

“You still have to ask?” His shoulders fall, slumping further against the wall, hooded eyes falling to his feet. “Of course I did.. I still do. I always will.”

“Then why did yo—“

“What’s taking so long!” Jeno busts through the front door, pausing with his knuckles turning white where he grips the handle hard enough to break off. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Nothing.” Johnny says casually, shoving off the wall to stand up straight. “As we agreed to, nothing at all.” He nods in Jeno’s direction, returning to his usual stature of living without acknowledging your existence, not even a ‘goodbye’ wave before exiting the room.

Jeno grabs the crook of your elbow tugging you back into his chest hard enough to have you stumbling, gasping out of shock. “Was he talking to you?!”

“Huh? Ow! You’re hurting me!” Tugging your arm away at the same time Jeno releases as if you’ve burned off the skin off his palm sends you tumbling forward, saved by his arm swiftly coming to wrap around your waist; eyes bouncing around full of concern and confusion.

“Sorry! I mean..” Jeno’s teeth grind together, softly squeezing you in his hold. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to..”

“Okay.. is everything alright?”

He frowns, ducking in to press his chin against your shoulder, eyelashes dragging down to the side as his eyes fall and lose their usual sparkle. “Yeah, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay Jeno.. let’s get going, yeah?”

“Yeah yeah.” He nods, pecking your skin before moving back to get the door for you. “I didn’t think he was home, swore I heard him leave earlier. Thought he’d be gone for the night fucking some whore.”

Jeno leads you to his car, missing the way you flinch at the mention of Johnny’s reoccurring activities, still sensitive as you try to process the answer you’ve been looking for.

I always will. That’s what Johnny said.. but there was something else.

Jeno’s driving, drumming on the steering wheel to calm his anxiety, the image of your back facing him with his fathers lazy eyes on you as you stood much too close together won’t leave his mind. He’s sick of it really, fighting his own father for the same girl; brainstorming new ways to threaten him. Even breaking into the old man’s home office to look through his patients files for some dirt, completely illegal but what about this predicament isn’t at this point.

“Back there..” you break his thoughts, clearing your throat.

“Huh?” Jeno glances, shifting his tense shoulders to relax and lean back in his seat. “Back there?”

“Your dad.. he said something, about ‘as we agreed to’ I think..” you say cautiously, picking at your cuticle. “Did you guys ever talk? About.. us?”

Jeno steps down on the brake abruptly, hurling your chest forward restrained by the seat belt that tightens up around you. “What?”

At least the lights red, you think, rubbing at your sore chest. “...Ow..”

Jeno sighs, more annoyed now, tapping the steering wheel with more aggression. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Things have been weird, awkward I guess.. ever since..”

“Since he dumped you?” He sneers, pushing down on the gas pedal too hard and revving off down the street, luckily empty at this late hour.

“We weren’t together, not like.. not like how you and I are. I mean—“

“He took advantage of you..” Jeno shakes his head, zipping through intersections without bothering to slow down or stop. “He took advantage of you, and you let him.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s okay.” Hitting the brakes he stops, pulling into a parking spot with ease, using one hand to steer the wheel into place. “It’s okay.” Jeno repeats again, as if to reassure himself more than anything. “My dad, that fucking asshole..”

Pulling the shift into park, he leans back again, the back of his head slamming against the seat frustrated. “It’s not your fault. When I was a kid he used to psychoanalyze me too, used that shit to manipulate me.”

Johnny didn’t manipulate me, your lip twitches to say, folding your hands together as you purse your lips tight.

“He blamed me, you know— for my mom leaving..” Jeno’s tongue drags inside of his cheek, wandering eyes gleaming more beneath the night sky breaking through the windshield. “I never stood a chance against him honestly, even now I can’t trust he’ll leave you alone.”

“He does leave me alone, Jeno.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, turning halfway in his seat to face you, head tilted as he takes in your confusion. “I told him to leave you alone, is that a problem?”

“..and he agreed? Is that what he meant?” You ask wearily, picking up over time that Jeno can’t keep eye contact when he lies, becoming shifty and distracted as he mumbles.

He blinks slowly, tongue poking between his lips in thought without tearing away from your gaze. “I told him that I really like you, and for once in my life I want to have a chance at something genuine.”

Jeno’s playful demeanor you’ve become acquainted with(although still perplexing at times) seems to disappear the more he speaks, concerning you enough to take a hold of his hand. “Hey..”

He mumbles something hard to make out, sinking against his seat. “I hate seeing him around you, I know you don’t see it the way I do but.. he used you.”

Ouch.

How could Jeno so easily ruin your delusional high of believing his father had actual feelings for you with just a few words. It’s not worth discussing, not with him, he’d never see it the way you do.

Understandably so, to him Johnny may as well be the scum of the earth while he consumed your entire world, day to night; continuing to daydream of the future you could have with your boyfriend's dad. The idea alone fucked up enough to make you nauseous now, having to swallow the bitter taste of bile down. As sick as it is, Johnny had made a home for himself in your heart.. at least the parts Jeno hadn’t managed to infiltrate.

Half of you really contemplated choosing stupidity, ruin your chances of getting dicked down tonight. Perhaps spice it up, Jeno had become.. soft as of late, but the distress across his pretty face quelled your hunger for drama, for now.

“So, what you’re saying is..” you bend in closer, jerking his chin up to look at you, hand squeezing around his. “You really like me?”

Jeno’s smile returns, huffing out a laugh, hiding half of his face in the seat. “Fighting my dad for you wasn’t enough? I have to say it too?”

Shrugging, you lean in closer, biting at his earlobe. “Wouldn’t hurt to hear once in a while after years of thinking you hated me.”

“Well..” the sound of keys jingling turns your attention to Jeno’s hand coming up between you, eyebrow lifted suggestively. “I think you like it, actually— I know you love it when I fuck you like I hate you.”

“You’re gonna fuck me in the arcade?” You glance outside, ‘High Scores’ lights up the hood of his car, the rest of the street dim and empty compared to the bright neon light flickering above you. “Does Haechan know you’re risking his job to have sex uninterrupted?”

Jeno laughs, opening his door to get out and grab yours, the nice gestures still taking awhile to get used to.(This is the same guy that made you get out of his car and walk to school just to not be seen with you afterall.)

“Most he said is to not leave a mess behind and make sure I lock up when we’re done here.” Helping you out he pushes your back to the passenger door, gaze back to the excited playful one you prefer. “I can always fuck you here instead.”

Even now the thrill of secrecy reminds you of him... the times he’d pull you into the backseat of his SUV to steal a kiss; softly pecking your lips while mumbling that he needed a little taste of you everyday, thumbing at his bottom lip while he sat across from you during dinner and stole glances at you. The craving for more always lingering.

“Right here? Where anyone can see?” You ask, pretending to be shocked with wide eyes and clutching your chest. “You think I’m some whore you can just fuck on the street?”

Jeno bites down on his tongue, smirking and grabbing your hips. “I knew this dress would look good on you.” He hikes up the sides around your hips, lifting you up onto the hood to sit and make space between your thighs. “I like it when you listen to me.”

It’s little things like this that heat up your chest, stinging from within between guilt and a yearning need. The twisted part of your mind consumed by the thought that Jeno’s so similar to his dad, just younger, a little naive, but he’s definitely not as dumb as you had assumed.

“Do you think I look pretty?” You ask coyly, pulling his hips in closer with a tight squeeze of your thighs. Jeno wraps around your waist, face only an inch away from yours now, his tone lowering to a deep rasp.

“You’re always pretty. You know when I brought you around my friends I had to stop myself from putting Jaemin in a headlock with the shit he was saying.” His hands roam lower as he goes on, smoothing up the sides of your thighs to play with the straps of your underwear. “Had to remind myself that they don’t know about us.. yet.”

“Yet?”

Jeno hums, gathering your underwear to one side to swipe his thumb between your folds; his cheeks rising upon making contact with your wet entrance. “Once your mom gets off my ass it’ll be easier for us. I guess I’m still worried.”

He mumbles with lowered eyelids, grabbing onto your inner thigh to spread you open further. Not quite lying, not quite telling you the truth. “You still don’t trust me, right?

The skin between his eyebrows wrinkles slightly, long eyelashes fanning across the tops of his cheeks. “Seeing you with him today, I feel..”

“You can be honest with me baby.”

Jeno nods, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening, smearing two fingers over the outside of your entrance haphazardly. “I’m annoyed, I’m mad. I hate that he still gets to see you— to see you look pretty for me.”

“We didn’t talk.” You lie, cupping his face to smooth away the stress tightening his jaw. “He was just passing by.”

“You’re not lying, are you?” Jeno asks slowly, also familiar with the way you bite your lip when you lie. Even the smallest movement of biting one corner is enough to give you away.

“I’m not lying.” You say, tugging your lip in under your teeth with a smile, quickly moving to kiss his nose before he can continue interrogating you. Jeno’s eyes drop shut swallowing back his disappointed sigh, hand sliding away to grip your thighs and pull your core closer to his crotch.

“I know we don’t talk about this,” his face dips into the crook of your neck to hide, breath fanning down your throat mixing in with the chilled night air. “..and I know I can’t ask you to ignore him, we all live together..”

“Jeno” you say, pulling back to grab a hold of his face again. “We live together, you realize that? It’s always you, me.. and my mom unfortunately.”

He smiles at that, playfully biting at your thumb poking against the corner of his mouth. “I’m not used to my dad actually doing something nice for me.” Other than funding him with money, which hasn’t been the case as of late. Jeno considers that maybe you were the exchange, no more allowance but hey- I’ll let you have the girl.

Fixing his wind swept bangs to uncover his forehead, you wonder what exactly was said in this agreement; had Johnny really given up on you so easily? How could he say he still loves you and watch another man, let alone his own son, prance around in his face holding and kissing you? It didn’t make any sense..

Jeno shivers, smoothing your dress back down and nodding toward the Arcade. “It’s getting cold, wanna head inside and play?”

He helps you off the hood, taking a hold of your hand and using his other to unlock the front door. “Oh? You know, I can kick your ass at Pac-man.”

Jeno pulls you in, locking the door back up, the inside mostly dark aside from a few strips of neon lights bordering the ceiling. “Is that all you know how to play?” He laughs, drawing you further in with both hands taking a hold of yours. “We both know I can eat you up easily.”

Coming to a stop he flicks on a switch, the room coming to life with lights and mixtures of video game music from different machines. Most of them classic vintage games, a few pinball machines and air hockey table. Nothing much, but a gamers safe haven nonetheless.

“There’s Street Fighter, Ninja Turtles, Super Mario Brothers, Frogger..” Jeno walks around keeping you by his side, chuckling at your lost expression as you look at him like he’s speaking a foreign language. “Pac-man it is, winner takes it all yeah?”

“What are we playing for?” You grumble, feigning annoyance because this is not what you had in mind when Jeno texted you about sneaking out together.

“If I win, I get to do whatever I want with you.” He beams, eyebrows raising up and down before inserting coins into the game.

“What if I win?”

“If you win..” pouting his lips, Jeno sways in thought, snapping his fingers. “I get to do whatever I want with you.” He says proudly, displaying all of his pearly white perfect teeth.

“Don’t you already?” You say in an annoyed tone, nudging against his side and grabbing onto a joystick.

“There is one thing, actually.” Jeno lowers his gaze scanning down your figure, eyes ending on your backside. “I believe you know what I want.”

“Right now?” You have to splutter a bit, nervously squeezing your thighs together. “Won’t it hurt though?”

He laughs, barely, more of an act to stop himself from replying with ‘That’s the point.’

“No baby, it’ll feel good.” Jeno sticks out his pinky, jutting his pink bottom lip out covered with a sheen of spit. “I prom.”

“Prom?” You question, distracted by how enticing his mouth looks pouting at you paired with a wide glossy gaze.

“Half a promise,” he winks, locking your pinkies together. “It might hurt actually.”

“Jeno!”

“Winner takes it all!” He laughs, returning to focus on starting your game of Pac-man.

“Jeno, what the fuck! This isn’t fair!” You panic, immediately falling behind as his hand seems to blur and you crash into another ghost.

“What can I say? I’m a pro.” He says nonchalantly, the smirk painting his lips growing. “You know what else I’m a pro at eating?”

“Jeno!” You splutter, distracted by the wink he shoots at you as another sound of disappointment blasts from the game's speakers, on your last leg of life attempting to catch up to your opponent nearing the end.

“Winners win.” Jeno’s arms lift up proudly, boasting his victory with flexed biceps. “Losers lose.”

He keeps cheering, arms pumping and pretending to wave at a crowd as the game congratulates his victory. “You didn’t tell me you were good at this game!”

“Well, you said you could kick my ass.” He shrugs, grabbing your wrists and dragging you toward him. “It seems I will be the one beating your ass up instead.”

Jeno taps the pout that’s formed on your lips, disguising how irritated he feels in actuality. Tapping your bottom lip, he hums and leans back against a wall. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

“Why do you keep asking?” You lilt, tilting your head suspiciously as you reach for his neck. Jeno snaps away too fast, quickly averting his gaze aside before you can catch his disappointment; his palms finding purchase around your waist and manhandling you against the wall.

“No reason,” he whispers, trapping your earlobe between his teeth and knocking his hips along your backside. “Don’t forget who won.”

The sound of his belt unlatching scratches at the back of your skull drowning out the arcade noises around you; with a bicep locking your arms together he wraps it around your elbows. The restraint tightens immediately, locking your arms in place behind your back. “Does it hurt, baby?”

‘Does it hurt badly?’

Pressing your cheek to the wall you shake, quietly muttering ‘no’, the churn in your stomach confusing you with arousal and guilt.

“That’s too bad..” pulling up your dress to bunch at your waist, Jeno slaps your ass softly, stroking his fingers over the roundness of your hips, dipping beneath the juncture between meaty flesh meeting thigh. “I know how much you love when it hurts.”

“Je—“

“Shhh.” Biting down on your earlobe, he tugs until you squeal, knees knocking together from the pain shooting through your ear. “See how you’re so fucking loud?”

Jeno sinks down into a squat gripping the sides of your ass and squeezing. His palms feel hot, heavy, digging his thin hard fingers into your cheeks. He pulls you open watching the thin string of your underwear fail to cover your holes completely, breath suctioning loudly between spit when he hisses and presses forward digging his nose against your barely concealed hole.

“Fuck!” You bite down, struggling to stay still on your toes digging deeper into the sole of your heels, his nose dragging up and down between releasing groans and deep breaths. The moans vibrating between the back of your thighs playing as a soundtrack for his disgusting euphoric high, leaving his mouth popped open, teeth catching onto bits of flesh hidden inside of you.

“So good.” Jeno laps at your rim, soaking up the thin piece of underwear there, teeth biting down and pulling away enough to watch your hole flutter. Slapping at your ass with a firmer hand he tugs the string off to one side, leaning forward to press his pouty lips against your hole. Mouth hot and breathy as he stays there tracing his words against your opening. “Want me to fill your little tight virgin asshole up so fucking bad, just look at the way you’re opening up for me already.”

As if on command slick drips down your inner thigh, rim convulsing around nothing. He snickers, tapping the tip of his finger against it. “So nasty, who taught you to be this fucking nasty huh?”

Oh.

Your eyes wrinkle together, hips jumping back in search of something wet, something to quell your need.

A succession of hard slaps stills your movement, ass stinging under his palm smoothing down, jiggling your cheek against his face. “Can’t even stop yourself, can you?”

“Please…do something.. please.”

Begging, you’re always such a beggar. Jeno can’t stand it, how your writhe and whimper, so desperate to get fucked. Can’t stand how pretty you sound when you beg, when you shout his name with your eyes facing the back of your skull. He can’t stand the way his cock jumps in his pants, twitching against his phone like a reminder.

“Ask for it.” His face rubs side to side, engulfed in your aroma, nose burying in and out of your hole teasingly. “Be a good girl, ask.”

“Jeno.. please,” sniffling, you have to shut your eyes to keep your mind blank. The similarities between two different men sit on your chest, sinking into the hollow, breaking down the bones and muscle protecting your heart. “Please baby.”

“Please what?” Pulling out his phone, Jeno double checks the silent button, hitting record and focusing on your ass sticking out; lower back making the shot from the way you dip in and arch out.

“Please, please fuck me…”

“Where?” He questions, tone falling deep, raspy, scratching up his vocal chords. “Tell me where.”

“My..” breath gets caught in your throat, hole clenching up as embarrassment flows down your face. Breaking out into a whimper at the first sign of moisture reaching the rims of your eyes. “My ass.. please fuck my ass.”

“That’s right,” Jeno groans, smoothing the pad of his finger around your wrinkled hole. “No one will ever fuck you the way I fuck you.”

Spit lands on your rim, the last shot he captures before sending the video off to a text message with ‘Asshole’.

‘Only for me.’

Pocketing his phone again, he focuses on collecting your wetness, swirling it together with his spit. The sounds of your needy whines only egg him on to work fast, lapping at the skin around his fingers until your knees bend and you shove back against his face.

Jeno contemplates for a second, mindlessly prodding the tips of two fingers in and out of your pulsating rim, your wanton cries driving him mad the longer he teases.

It shouldn’t hurt, but you deserve for it to hurt, because you’re a fucking liar, because you’d rather lie to him and allow his mind to wander.

Before he can shake away the worry, his phone buzzes, distracting him for a moment before pressing into your hole to keep you occupied.

‘Ask your little girlfriend about our conversation you rudely interrupted. I wouldn’t be so sure if I was you.’

Jeno can’t believe how fast this fucking asshole replies, nearly crushing his phone and jabbing his fingers into you roughly at the same time.

“Ahh!”

“Shut up.” He growls, shoving his phone away, proceeding to jackhammer two fingers inside your ass. A wad of spit lands around them adding a small amount of lubricant, his roughness forcing your ass to shake around the pressure.

“Baby please, ah!” Struggling to stay still, your toes pinch together, pushing your forehead against the wall with another cry. Tears stain down your cheeks the more he ignores you, muscles rippling up his forearm beneath pulsing large veins. “Please, slow..slow down!”

Another growl is all you hear in response, dipping in to lavv at the tough skin constricting around his fingers, his free hand reaching between your thighs to pinch at your clit and distract your mind from the pain.

Jeno’s ears fill up from the heat surrounding him, forcing another digit inside your hole and groaning at the visual of how obscenely stretched you are around him. Still managing to push in past your resistance, his stare burns, stuck on the little flex and pinch your ass gives with each push inside.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

A startled broken moan slips out of you, caught off guard by how deep, near demonic his vibrato’s fallen to. The surprise has your hips canting back full of fear, excitement, Jeno’s fingers digging deep into your ass pushing against your walls.

“Relax, you’ll make this hurt more than it has to.”

The glide of his nose pressing to your neglected hole has you jolting up, legs pin straight the second his tongue flicks at your clit. His hand reaches around grasping your thigh, strong hold pushing you to sit down on his face. He tongues at your bundle of nerves viciously, nose suffocated by the ridiculous amount of slick pouring out of you, the majority of it dripping down past the consistent small dip in and out of you, trickling a pathway down his thick neck, bobbing and struggling to breathe with his airway full of arousal.

“Ah fuck! I’m close!” Full of urgency you scream, hands twitching like crazy to grab onto something, anything to help you stay attached to reality. He only speeds up, the fat of his tongue dragging along your swollen clit roughly, powerfully working you into a faster frenzy until your thighs quake.

Jeno’s relentless, tongue blurring against your clit with speed, nose stuffed as deep as possible, the three digits curling up and pulling. Pain and pleasure hit a new high, bending your neck back into a deep arch as your climax hits and erupts hard enough to choke him between the wet squirt and weight of your lower half coming down.

Slapping down on your upper thigh, Jeno gags, coughing from the fluid filling his nostrils, fingers crooking up before sliding out and smearing the mess of spit down your leg.

“Come here.” He drags your lifeless body down to his lap, switching to hold his weight against the wall, lips landing against yours in a mess of heat. The drool pouring from your mouth blends with his spit coated lips vocalizing the hunger of your mouths fighting for dominance. “Wanna..”

Jeno pants, licking at every crevice of skin and tongue like a thirsty puppy, eyes glazed over as he gazes at your already wrecked face. “..see you, wanna see you.”

“Uh huh,” nodding you wrap around his neck, forehead landing against his cheek lazily as he positions you over his length. The whole act feels dirty, a memory you’ll recall someday; how silly it is to be a teenager having to sneak around just to get laid(all because you fucked your boyfriend’s dad). “See you.” You repeat breathless, cock dragging between your folds drenched by wet arousal that won’t stop leaking.

“Pussy dripping wet for me, know why?” Jeno’s arm squeezes around your middle, hot mouth dragging up your jaw to whisper in your ear. “Cause you’re a fucking slut, and all sluts know how to do is take cock.”

The cry you let out shaking your head with denial gets lost, Jeno capturing your bottom lip in a rough kiss and thrusting up to fill you halfway. He grunts, pushing your body lower to bury the rest of his length inside and swallow down your cries. “Slutty fuck hole.”

Eyelashes flutter along your cheek, hot tightness wrapped around his size drawing deep guttural moans out. Hips jerk upward, lodging the entirety of his length inside of you. He’s overbearing, sucking the moans out of your mouth, slapping down on your ass to move and ride his length despite your cries.

“Feel good?” Jeno’s bicep flexes, snaked around your waist tighter than a boa constrictor, making it harder to breathe with the incessant ramming of his hips fucking you up and down his size.

“S-so so so good,” you sigh between tears, scratching your nails through the back of his scalp and sweaty nape. “So good inside.”

He wants to be mean, wants to pull you off him, throw you down on the ground and fuck you like nothing but a useless whore; but he can’t. Mentally cursing himself out, he shifts to lay you down, throwing your thigh around his hip for leverage to grind into you, eyes burning over your dazed expression.

Pretty.

Kissing the backs of his teeth he fucks into you faster, chasing his own need to get off without much concern for yours. This isn’t about you, this isn’t about your glazed gaze, parted swollen lips, the tear tracks rolling down past your jaw following the dips of collarbone rising and falling at a rapid pace, breasts bouncing near out of your dress with each beating thrust.

Jeno feels crazed, hot, throat burning from the inside out from the endless groans tearing through his chest. Bending forward, his weight throttles into you, jostling you to slide up. Palms attaching you to the ground with a vicious chokehold. Teeth grit and grind, wrinkling the skin on his cheeks and forehead, cock fucking in and out, in and out, the loud squelch of wet somehow louder than your pleasured sounds combined.

“M’gonna..” Jeno gulps, swallowing the wads of spit and drool collecting at the sides of his tongue. “Fuck you, fuck you all night. Fuck your ass open, break you.”

Unsure he can even last with how tight you grip around him, Jeno pulls out, shushing the loud whine you let out, pouting and crying harder about how close you were. “Shh..” slapping down between your thighs, he licks at his lips hungrily, entertained by the way you twitch and cry, still lifting your hips for another slap on your pussy. “Turn around.”

Knowing you can’t do much with your arms constrained, he manhandles you onto your front, noting how your flesh folds over the leather belt, sure enough to leave marks behind the more you struggle. He pulls at the leather, shoving your dress to the top of your back completely bunched up, wrinkling the nice material that someone else would have stripped off of you gently..

“Mine.” Jeno swipes his fingers around your exposed rim, lightly laughing at how you jerk forward and arch out more. Cock slapping down between your ass with a hiss. “So pretty like this..”

He’s done bothering to prep you, on the brink of insanity listening to your shattered whimpers, the exhausted, depraved little way you repeat his name. “So mine.” Resting his length on your rim, he reaches lower, scooping a wad of wetness globbed at your entrance, the only extra he’ll spare you, smearing the mess of it up and down his size.

He presses to your rim, biting down on his lip hard enough to break skin and compress the growl trying to escape. “God, fuck.”

Jeno thinks he can’t breathe for a moment, sinking in through the insane tightness, his stomach sucked empty, raggedly inhaling the more inch by inch disappears inside of you.

He thrust shallowly, experimenting with short and fast grinds until every bit of his size can no longer be seen, eyebrows crushed together as he struggles to breathe and crashes a harsh slap down on your ass. The growl escapes similar to a feral animal on the run, animalistic much like each barreling thrust colliding with your ass.

Jeno loses it from there, a string of curses running off his tongue between groans, hammering his hips forward, his free hand reaching for one of your shoulders to press your chest down. The extra hold only enforcing more power behind each slam, burying his cock deeper than you can even begin to fathom. “Gonna fuck your ass all the time now.”

“Hurts! Hurts so much!” You moan, stuttering between each syllable, arching deeper for him to fuck faster.

“You love it.” He bends forward, chest pressed down on your back knocking out your air flow. His other hand trailing from your hip to slap against your cunt, fingers pressing down on your clit and rubbing in fluid motions of figure eights.

“Ah fuck! Baby!”

Jeno knows you’re close, tightening up around his cock making it harder for him to shove in past your resistance. Pussy quivering the more he plays with your clit. “Yeah, just like that.” He pants, thirsty like a dog, tongue wagging out drooling. “Fucking tight, so fucking tight.”

He starts fucking at an unreal speed, rapidly ripping past each clench. The growls behind you akin to a beast, sucking bits of your soul with each thrust bottoming out inside of your ass.

“Jeno!” It’s barely a whimper, too empty headed to process anything beyond the heat coiling down your stomach, toes curling against your heels, the cool wet smeared down your thighs.

A pinch at your clit has you leaking, squirting around nothing and clamping down on the cock filling your ass, Jeno’s hand drenched by your climax pouring to the floor around his fingers.

He can’t believe it, you really came from this, asshole stuffed to the brim with cock for the first time. The thought alone tightens up his balls, jackhammering against your limp frame, falling into sloppy mismatched thrusts until the heat in his chest snaps. Cock crammed down to the hilt jerking and pulsing inside your warm heat. Sticky and obscene, the thick milky cream collecting at the base of his length with each last pitiful thrust.

Jeno finishes up, throat visibly bobbing as he takes in your backside covered in the excess cum, dragging his wet cock on your heated flesh. The white liquid gliding down your soft skin, ass gaped and ruined, his arm reaches around patting for his pants in search of one thing.

Jeno types with one thumb, quickly filming a clip of his hand sweeping up the back of your thigh, rubbing his release into your skin, the last shot ending on your holes.

The text finishes sending, a pleased grin lazily fitting his face before leaning down to kiss the middle of your back.

He mumbles mindlessly against your damp skin, imagining his recipient's face opening the message, pleased by the thought of his father’s enraged face.

‘Only mine.’

[anonymousewrites]

Nature of the Human Soul (Book 1) Chapter Three

Platonic! Hazbin Hotel x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Alastor x Teen! Reader

Chapter Three: Controlling Television

Summary: The Hotel learns about the extermination coming early, and (Y/N) meets someone new.

            “Okay, so the extermination is coming in six months instead of a year,” said Charlie, pacing. “No big deal. Just a little setback. Nothing we can’t handle. Just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls?” She laughed nervously, the breakdown beginning. “Am I right? And next time, when they cut the time in half again and again, we’ll just handle it, right?”

            Vaggie caught Charlie by the shoulders. “Yes. We will.” She attempted to steady her girlfriend.

            “Oh, please, ya had less of a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit,” said Angel. “And now….Ain’t no silver lining this time toots.”

            “Sure there is,” said Charlie. “We just have to look a little harder for it.”

            “Seems pretty bleak to me,” said (Y/N). “I don’t know much about it, but it feels like the angels get to do whatever they want and fuck us over.”

            Angel nodded, and Charlie deflated. “The rest of Hell agrees with them. They’re going nuts.” Angel grimaced as he read through reactions on his phone. “People are freaking out about the news.” He held up his phone. “Look at what’s happening in the Doomsday District.”

            The land was on fire, and Charlie frowned as a notification popped up.

            “Er, what is a ‘donkey show?’ ” she asked.

            “Ah! Heh, nothing!” said Angel, snatching his phone back. “My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news, too. Like I said, everyone’s losing their shit.”

            “Yeah, that’s true. Sinners are desperate,” said Vaggie. “Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape the next extermination?” She smiled at Charlie.

            “This is the perfect time to recruit more sinners for the hotel!” said Charlie excitedly.

            “People will do everything except for try to change themselves,” said (Y/N), dubious of that idea. “If exterminations have been going on for…forever, I don’t really know if this will change anything yet. You’d have to be really convincing.”

            “Well, yeah, but that’s why I have to go out and gather people myself!” said Charlie. “It’s not people are going to show up on our doorstep.”

            Boom!

            The wall exploded (again).

            “Show yourself, Alastor!” cried a familiarly snakelike and dramatic voice. It was Sir Pentious from the previous incident, back to get his ass beat again (because what else was going to happen to him? Alastor was way more powerful than him). “Come and face—”

            “Will you shut up?!” snapped (Y/N), leaning their head out the hole. “We’re trying to handle some problems in here!”

            Pentious deflated in disappointment as the teenager glared at him, completed unintimidated. “I’m not here for you! I’m here for Alastor!”

            Hearing the commotion and always loving some entertainment, Alastor popped out of the shadows with a mug that said “Hello, Deer.” “Who are you?” he asked.

            “Who am I?! Who am I!?” cried Pentious. “I am the great Sir Pentious! Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!”

            “Ooh, he’s a bad boy,” said Niffty, grinning.

            “Huh, well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you,” said Alastor, grinning.

            “I attacked you literally last week,” said Pentious.

            Alastor tilted his head, clearly not remembering a thing.

            “We’ve done battle like twenty times!” said Pentious.

            “Well, you must have been really bad at this,” said Alastor.

            “Silence! Now cower!” cried Pentious. “For when I’ve slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!”

            (Y/N) looked at Vaggie. “Who are the Vees?”

            “Velvette, Valentino, and Vox—three of the worst Overlords. Velvette deals in fashion and social media, Valentino runs Hell’s biggest porn studio, and Vox controls almost all technology,” said Vaggie. She crossed her arms. “Don’t get involved with them. They’re manipulative pieces of shit.”

            “Definitely am not planning it,” said (Y/N). They didn’t want to get put under anyone’s thumb after their life.

            “They’re nobody important,” said Alastor.

l

            “You know, Angel isn’t the only one spending time at that ratty hotel with the devil’s princessa,” said Valentino.

            “Oh, who else is there? Someone who owes you money?” asked Vox.

            Valentino chuckled. “Someone who owes us much more than money. The Radio Demon is there.”

            Vox’s screen sparked, and his nails dug into the desk. “What did you say?”

            “You heard me,” said Valentino.

            “Alastor came back, and he is with Lucifer’s daughter, and that wasn’t the first fucking thing you told me?!” snapped Vox.

            “Hey, killing Alastor is your kink,” said Valentino, waving a hand.

            Vox glared at the screens in the room, and one switched onto a recording on the hotel so he could glare at the gathering outside. Alastor, who kept glitching in the recording, was grinning and standing beside Lucifer’s daughter, her girlfriend, Angel, and a young demon with a rose motif.

l

            “Oh, please, stop!” cried Pentious as his ship was once again torn apart by shadows while Alastor cackled in amusement.

            “Um, Alastor? I think he’s had enough,” said Charlie.

            “I don’t know, he came here asking for it,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

            “Oh, yeah, he’s got a few more hits in ‘im,” snickered Angel.

            Pentious fell out of his ship and landed on the ground.

            “Thanks for another forgettable experience,” said Alastor with a wide grin.

            “Thank…you…” groaned Pentious. “For letting your guard down!” His tail shot out, tore off a piece of Alastor’s coat, and retreated. Pentious laughed.

            A large shadow loomed over him.

            “Oh, shit.”

            Green magic exploded from Alastor, and Pentious was sent flying out of the hotel’s airspace.

            “Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor,” said Alastor, turning away from the flying snake without a care. “Best of luck, chums!”

            “Wait, you’re leaving?” said Vaggie. “Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job.”

            “We need a wall,” said Angel.

            “Of course! Can’t let my new project fall into disrepair already! What would the papers say?” Alastor snapped his fingers, and shadow workers, like from the advertisement, popped up to help rebuild the wall. Satisfied, Alastor turned and walked away.

            Angel grinned and approached the shadows. “Hey, sweet cheeks. What you doin’ later?”

            “I’m out,” said (Y/N), turning away before they had to see Angel flirt more.

            “Can you at least help us?” asked Vaggie, gesturing to the destroyed wall.

            “…Do I look like I have experience building walls?” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “You can buy us a new painting. Charlie likes having decorations, and one got destroyed by Sir Pentious,” said Vaggie.

            (Y/N) considered. “Are you giving me money?”

            “Yes,” said Vaggie.

            “Ok, sure,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

            “Right,” said Vaggie, pulling out cash. “And here, I’ll show you where to go.”

            She pulled out her phone to show a map of the Pride ring. The last thing they needed was (Y/N) getting lost and getting into trouble. Actually, Charlie would probably be against sending (Y/N) out for an errand, but Vaggie had seen they were going a bit stir crazy from being at the hotel all the time, so the least she could do was give (Y/N) a short errand to run to one of the more civilized/reputable areas of Pride. And if there was any trouble, Vaggie would go into town and intercede with her spear.

l

            (Y/N) hadn’t expected running an errand in Hell to go so smoothly. After every other person at the hotel complained or ran into some trouble (Angel: old customers, Vaggie and Charlie: haters of the hotel, Husk: people in general), (Y/N) had expected to have to stay on their toes. Instead, they had gone into the shop Vaggie asked them to, purchased a non-inappropriate painting, and headed out with enough change to buy themself something.

            (Y/N) had seen a café on the way into town, and now the sweets were calling their name as they headed back. Seeing as they never got to treat themself in life, why not do so in death?

            (Ironically, so far their death had been better and more filled with friendship than their life had been.)

            (Y/N) walked through the streets, pausing only to make sure they had the right directions. Sure, they’d been fine so far, but they weren’t going to test their luck by going anywhere they weren’t supposed to.

            (Y/N) passed by a group of demons staring at television screens in a store window, entranced. Curious, (Y/N) paused to glance at the screens.

            They were displaying an advertisement for merchandise from the very store they were standing in. People were in a trance watching, and they all immediately rushed inside to purchase what they’d seen advertised.

            (Y/N) frowned. Looking at the screens gave them a headache, so (Y/N) turned to walk away. They had a bad feeling about the store and technology—so missing from the hotel—and they weren’t going to ignore that feeling.

            No sooner had (Y/N) decided to ignore the screens that one buzzed to life, and sparks jumped from the screen. (Y/N) froze as the sparks formed the body of a man with a TV for a head in front of them on the sidewalk, effectively blocking their path.

            Well, shit, I don’t think I’ve successfully avoided trouble, thought (Y/N). It didn’t take a genius to realize this was Vox, who Vaggie had warned them about.

            “No interest in any technology?” said Vox with a wide, electric grin.

            “Nope.” (Y/N) kept their answer short and curt, trying to get out of the conversation.

            “You’re one of the sinners staying at the princess’s hotel,” said Vox, eyes narrowing calculatingly. His smile widened. “I don’t believe you have a phone. Are you sure you don’t need one?” He held out his hand, and a phone was held in it. “Think of it as a welcome gift to Hell.”

            “I’m not interested,” said (Y/N), stepping around Vox to attempt an escape from the encounter.

            Vox turned immediately, still smiling widely. Apparently, it wasn’t going to be that easy to avoid him. “I’m just trying to support the hotel. Like the Radio Demon.” His smile glitched slightly.

            Oh. So that’s what this was. Vox was just trying to get in Alastor’s hair and annoy him.

            “Yeah, well, we’re okay,” said (Y/N), taking a step away.

            “Are you sure?” One of Vox’s eyes pulsed with energy, and (Y/N)’s headache grew stronger.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N) firmly.

            “I think that you may want to reconsider,” said Vox, eye still swirling.

            “I think I’m fine,” said (Y/N). “So just leave me alone.” They narrowed their eyes.

            Vox’s screen sparked, and his eyes narrowed.

            Danger, danger!

            Sparks flew at (Y/N).

            Bam!

            A bramble of vines and thorns erupted from the ground and blocked the sparks. (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and Vox sparked.

            “What the—”

            “My, my, are you bothering one of my guests?”

            A shadow loomed over Vox and (Y/N). Vox flinched and looked to see Alastor with a wide, threatening smile.

            “Really, Vox, what terrible manners,” said Alastor.

            “Radio Demon,” snapped Vox.

            “Yes, precisely,” said Alastor. “So run along and leave my guests alone. Really, how unbecoming.” His grin sharpened. “Unless, of course, if you’d like to have another little competition.”

            Vox glared, and his screen glitched. However, he wasn’t interested in going toe-to-toe with Alastor again after getting his entire network shut down for a few hours, so with a final angry glare, he dissolved into electricity and disappeared into the TVs he came from.

            “Well, what a terrible way to end a day out,” tsked Alastor.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), making a face.

            Alastor looked at the briar sticking up from the ground. “And what might this be?”

            (Y/N) stared at it. “It just kind of…appeared.”

            Alastor raised an eyebrow. “When Vox threatened you?”

            “Uh, yeah,” said (Y/N), touching the vine curiously. It flinched and disappeared back into the ground. “Huh.”

            Alastor grinned. “How interesting.”

            “What do you mean?” said (Y/N), cocking their head.

            “That, my dear, is magic,” said Alastor. His grin had widened in amusement. “It seems you’re going to be an entertaining guest.”

            “Oh, yay,” said (Y/N) sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping to be.”

            Alastor laughed and waved a hand. “Have no fear, have no fear. Why, the entertainment I’m looking for is you struggling with that magic.”

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N), still deadpan. “I’ll make sure to practice in front of you so you can laugh.

            Alastor grinned. “Why, thank you, dear! Perhaps I’ll even give you a few tips!”

            (Y/N) looked at him, rolled their eyes, and shrugged. “Have fun.”

            “Oh, I always do,” chirped Alastor. “Now, come, let’s return to the hotel. No point getting into more trouble, even if you’ve discovered magic.” He looked at them. “And I do intend to give you a few tips.”

            “Wait, really?” said (Y/N), blinking in surprise.

            “Of course. I can’t have my guests being helpless,” said Alastor, twirling his staff.

            (Y/N) perked up. “Thanks, Alastor!”

            He glanced at them, surprised at the boisterous honesty. He decided not to respond, and the pair walked back towards Hazbin Hotel in silence.

            That was fine with (Y/N). They were contemplating finally having some power of their own for their own life.

l

            “Oh, good, you made it back alright!” said Charlie. She smiled at (Y/N). “Vaggie told me she sent you out, and I was worried!”

            “I didn’t mind going out. I’m going stir crazy here,” said (Y/N).

            “And they have proven themself capable of keeping themself safe,” said Alastor with a grin.

            Vaggie frowned. “Wait, did something happen?”

            (Y/N) coughed. “You know how you told me to avoid the Vees?”

            “Yeah?” said Vaggie, narrowing her eyes.

            “Vox decided to pop out of a TV in front of me,” said (Y/N).

            “What?!” cried Vaggie.

            “Relax, they were fine,” said Alastor. He twirled his staff. “I interceded before anything could happen to them, and Vox’s sparks couldn’t even hurt them.” His grin widened. “They summoned magic of their own.”

            “You did?” said Charlie excitedly.

            (Y/N) nodded. “Apparently, yeah.”

            “That’s awesome!” said Charlie encouragingly.

            “Yes, it’s quite unusual,” said Alastor. “And I intend to teach them.”

            Everyone froze and stared at Alastor.

            “You what?” repeated Charlie, an awkward smile on her face.

            “I will be teaching (Y/N) to use their magic. We can’t have them being helpless, now, can we?” Alastor still wore his signature grin, as mischievous as ever.

            Oh shit, thought everyone. If there was one thing they knew, it was Alastor taking a liking to the teenager couldn’t be a good thing. It could only spell trouble and mischief.

            And, unfortunately for them, (Y/N) wore an excited grin that promised all that trouble and more.

Taglist:

@kyalov

@pandaquick

@boredwithlifeatthispoint

@jaytheaceenby

@paastaboi

@bettybabys

@gxdoesstuff

@grippleback-galaxy

@just-here-reading

@dmitrytherat

@a-small-tyrant

@marxo5

@rory-cakes

@andsoigotabutterfly

@theblueslytherin

@romyoia

@ray-rook

[bibibbon]

I don't even know what to say about the ending, because my expectations for it were so non-existent, but I will say this:

1A as a found family? Not canon. It really makes 1A look bad that once Izuku becomes Quirkless again, they don't talk as much anymore. It's only when he becomes Iron Izuku that they start talking to him again. Izuku even says how lonely he is now that his classmates are heroes and he isn't!

Hori's message that anyone can be a hero, even without a Quirk? Complete and utter bullshit. Again, without Iron Izuku - which took 8 YEARS to develop, he didn't stand a chance. Even All Might could only be a hero after Kamini Ward with Iron Might and that only lasted like 5 minutes.

The hero ranking system and hero culture as a whole? Basically the same as before. Apparently, the low crime rate has concentrated the pool of heroes to those who have strong Quirks.

Literally the only good thing about the ending is that Bakugou didn't become the #1 hero, and even that shows that because he NEVER FUCKING CHANGED, he's dropping in the ranks.

Hi @nutzgunray-lvt 👋

Honestly, same all I can do to describe the ending of MHA is underwhelming and horrible.

Moving on you are right 1A didn't have a good found family bond and canon even shows this and supports this. After they graduated and became heroes it seems like they lost contact with eachother and didn't meet eachother for casual talks or just hanging out because they're days off didn't align or their just wasn't and effort made. Heck we don't see a little reunion or even simple text messages it just seems like they drift apart and no one seems to even comfort izuku when he is officially quirkless.

I have said it and I will say it again I hate the whole concept of iron might or iron Izuku. I don't know why but I simply don't like it and the fact that it proves that you do need a quirk to become a hero. The series seems to have horrible messaging and the whole definition of hero seems to stick to the same definition in chapter one "a job, a career" that's it not it being "to help people and help society". "Anyone can be a hero" but you can't if youre quirkless I guess🤷‍♀️ .

I stand by my point that izuku could of became a quirkless hero. Not a hero like all might but a hero for sure and at this point it seems sad to see izuku lose OFA and just become iron Izuku it's just pitiful and empty and bland and bleak and well you get the jist of it.

Hero culture and heroics is still toxic. Heck I think you could argue that it's become even more toxic that the hero environment has been saturated by those that have strong quirks. It also seems like hawks really didn't do anything at all to change the system except of add a bit so other people can be celebrated but the hero polls still stand with bakugo being aggressive as ever and again showing us that he hasn't changed and his treatment to izuku seems to be the only thing that hori focuses on even though there is no focus on it from Izuku's perspective aka making all of bakugos development that is only towards izuku null.

May I also bring the point that it wasn't hawks who even tried introducing a new quirk counselling system but it was ochako?!?!!! Iam sorry it was ochako who even introduced it and is changing it like why isn't hawks there helping he is after all the head of HPSC after all. Also, the whole idea of heroes only being people with strong quirks and that the crime rate is low maybe because of it paints a horrible picture. This whole idea also proves that history is just rhyming and will soon probably repeat itself sooner or later that is.

[bahrtofane]

here we go again - pt.3

pt. 1 , pt.2

jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader

empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again. or will you? can things be forgiven?

Word count - 1.9K +

Watch it - reader so sad but dw bae it gets better ! jude. Just jude. hehehe

—--

Madrid is bleak and bland when you get back, eager to find a routine, to busy yourself with anything, everything.

It's almost like there's a big joke being played on you because you're given Jude to create promotional posters for. It makes you want to cry, but you suck it up, download the pictures and get to work. Even if you have to scribble his face out the whole time.

Avoiding Jude becomes your obsession. You make it your top priority to avoid seeing him in person under any and all costs. You refuse to go anywhere near the stadium, training facilities. Blocking official accounts and avoiding tv when you know they're set to play.

You find jude everywhere. In the cracks of sidewalks where flowers bloom. Inside coffee shops when the smell of vanilla hits your face, under bridges where graffiti of smiley faces litter the concrete. 

His presence looms over the city like a specter, mocking your attempts to move on. You long for the day when his memory no longer haunts you, when you can walk through Madrid without feeling his presence at every turn.

Until then, you cling to the hope that time will heal the wounds he left behind, and that one day, you'll be able to reclaim the city as your own. But for now, Madrid remains a bleak and lonely place, haunted by the ghost of a love lost.

—-

Trent calls you about a week after you land, in the middle of your morning routine.

“How are you?”

You stifle a sigh, picking at your nails, “I'm really just peachy Trent,” padding over to your kitchen, opening the fridge.

“You know what I mean.”

You grab what you need, using your hip to close the fridge “I don't know why you keep calling me Trent. I'm fine. Tell jude to fuck off yeah?”

You hear a sigh from the other end, “jude has nothing to do with me checking up on you.”

“Sure.” you hang up. And he doesn’t call again.

—--

The office is always full of energy on match days, and you hate how it's become a tradition to all watch together. Weather in the stands or from the actual office. Your desire to show up in a barca jersey is very very strong.

Today is one day where you walk single file to the stadium and find your seats. Curse working for madrid, it brings you a little too close to the pitch for comfort. You spend half the game on your phone, even when your coworkers gently nudge your shoulder when Jude speeds to the post, you mumble something about work that needs to be done (you're on your settings.)

Jude scores, of course he does. And it's a beautiful goal, straight power, nothing but net. You're up cheering before you can stop yourself, smiling. You're smiling at Jude scoring. 

He jogs over to the crowd per usual, caught up in the adrenaline. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to scoring at home. The feeling is unbeatable. His eyes scan the crowd, and they just so happen to land on you. 

You're here? The cheers of the crowd fade out, his arms falling to his side, he's staring right at you. He's taken back to the night he left you alone. He’s a fucking idiot. You don't look away, if anything you lean forward in your seat. You're here. 

—--

Against better judgment he goes looking for you after the game. Running down hallways still in his kit, looking a mess with grass stuck all over him. At least he managed to kick his cleats off and grab the nearest slides he could find. He's pretty sure these aren't his but he doesn't care. Not right now.

He knows the staff tend to hang around after games, the issue is where.

Curse the never ending construction. The  place is a maze, an awful one without, with it feels like he's entering a different dimension at every turn.

He hears laughing and speeds down to find himself in a lounge full of people, all who rush to him to sing praises. He smiles. Trying not to get blinded by flash photography. A voice cuts through the crowd, a soft laugh. 

You're here. Oh you're here. 

He sees you tuck a piece of paper into a folder, smiling softly, patting the back of what he assumes to be a coworker as you make your way to the exit.

He tries to get past the people who surround him, but you're already gone. He's lost you again, all while you were right in front of him.

He goes home that night unable to sleep, eat, think. He blames himself, of course he does. It's his fault isn't it?

Somewhere during his night routine he thinks that there's an ounce of hope to fix this. 

He calls trent. 

“I don't know man.” Trent mumbles on the other end. 

“I gotta at least try right?” 

There's a beat of silence that lasts a moment too long, “if that's what you want.”

Jude thanks him for his time anyway. Tucking himself into bed. 

He scrolls through instagram on his burner account, finding your account again. The request button taunts him, but he knows you wont accept. Instead clicking on your profile picture, watching it take up his screen and he sighs. He really has to get his life together doesn't he.

—--

The next time Jude sees you is at an event. Black tie in a nearby hotel. He misses getting ready with you for these, with all your products and accessories lining his sink while he watched you fondly.

“Do I look okay?” you would ask each time, leaning a hand on the sink while the other smoothed down the creases on your dress. Doing a once over in his mirror.

He would hum softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “you look amazing.”

You'd blush, swatting him away playfully. Pressing a kiss to his cheek and promising to see him there.

The same mirror now stares back at him cooly. His sink is empty, as his house is. He misses the smell of your perfume, your clothes that littered his space. He misses how you made it a home.

He sees you there all the same, mingling with your coworkers. You look amazing, that hasn't changed. The dark circles under your eyes have, two purple half moons stamped rather aggressively on your skin. How long has it been since you got proper nights rest jeez.

He makes his rounds to everyone. Brand ambassadors, staff, teammates, a list of high profile people he doesn't care to repeat. He leaves your little corner last on purpose. He doesn't want anything to get in the way.

He slides over to where you hug a glass of water to your chest, nodding along to something a man in a blue suit is saying. Pfft blue what a rookie choice. Jude is in all black, did you notice? It was your favorite on him.

You did notice, and try to suppress the desire to hurl when he walks over to you. 

Jude gets to say no more than a sloppy greeting in Spanish before he's grabbed by the arm and taken back to where he thinks the owner of the hotel is standing.

You sigh in relief, and he sighs in frustration.

Fate has driven you apart once more it seems.

—--

Jude is a stubborn stubborn man. You can't seem to outrun him, no matter how many calls and texts you ignore, or block his accounts. Nor how you manage to slip out from right in front of him. Fate is on his side today it seems.

He shows up to your office, flowers in hand. Your favorite flowers, tied neatly with a ribbon of your favorite color, a card neatly tucked under the petals. 

Your coworkers are in uttersock, not even trying to hide their surprise as he marches over to your desk.

You type faster, ignoring him, or trying to. The gazes on you burn, almost as much as they did on the night he left you to rot. Why is he here?

“Hey,” he tries, meekly. He wants to punch himself in the face. Hey? Really? 

You don't look up from your monitor, opening more tabs, swiping your mouse against your desk furiously. You think the battery just fell out.

“Listen, I know I'm horrible, a piece of shit, the worst man alive, I don't deserve you in the slightless. But I love you.” he scrambled out in one breath.

You whip your head up at him,”love? You love me so much you took me to a club on valentines day?”

He winces, “it was so stupid. I'm so stupid. Please, let me make it up to you.” he pleads. 

You sigh, throwing your head back in your chair, rolling your eyes,”are you actually going to change Jude. Are you going to stop this nonsense and treat me like you actually mean what you say?”

“Yes,” he nods furiously, “I promise. Not a day will go by without me proving it to you, I swear.”

You look back at him. He's worn your favorite cologne, the sweater you used to always steal on cold nights. The flowers are beautiful. You missed him, you missed him so much, to the point that you're really considering it. 

Someone coughs in the cubicle next to you and you groan, gathering your things and hastily walking to the door, motioning for Jude to follow.

He looks like a newborn puppy, almost tripping on his feet while he follows you through hallways and corridors till you reach a stairwell you know for certain no one will walk through.

“Jude, I hope you know what you did broke me, it really broke me. I think you ruined my ego, permanently.”

He nods, leaning on the railing while he clutches the bouquet with so much force you're scared they're going to be wrung like a wet rag. 

“But,” you raise a finger to him, “ and this is a big big but, if you can prove these things instead of saying them, i'll consider giving you another proper chance okay?”

You see the tension visibly ease from his shoulders as he sighs softly, “Okay, yes, thank you. Thank you so much,” he brings the flowers forward, waiting for you to take them.

And you do, gently picking the note from the petals, you'll read this when you get home.

“I uh also, booked a dinner of your favorite place in a few days, in case you were willing to give me another chance i didn't want to mess it up again and if you don't have anything else going on and i just-” you take his hand in yours, stopping his ramblings effectively as he looks away. All of a sudden so shy as if you haven't stayed at his place for days at a time.

“I'll go Jude. I'm free, don't worry.”

“Great. 7 sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. Ill see you then okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbles, soft and sweet.

With a smile you send him off, almost flying down the stairs in pure glee. You shake your head fondly, heading back to your work. The flowers weigh more than just their physical weight. The letters feel like a ton on its own.

You hope you made the right choice.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Though We're Strangers 'Til Now

And now for something completely different! Now I want you guys to do me a favour here, and I need you to picture this fic as having like, a BBC Saturday night family show budget. I’m specifically talking Atlantis, but if you’ve not seen Atlantis (like most people), think Merlin. I wrote Edwin and Charles’ voices entirely as I’d write them in canon-verse, with nearly no regard to the fact I was transplanting them into ancient Greece, so it’s VERY important to me that you embrace the Camp. This is a styrofoam dungeon. Charles is about to meet his destiny in a labyrinth that’s just a quarry in Wales. The historical outfits all have zips up the back. Get on board with the vibe. This one goes out to @every-moment-a-different-sound, who not only made me aware of Painland week as a thing but also approached me for a collab! Go check out their FUCKING GORGEOUS GIFS for this fic!!! This fic quite literally wouldn’t exist without them, Robin you fuckin' rule 💛 4.7k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

The dungeon was a proper dingy place. Charles wondered if that's where they got the name from. Dingy, dungeon. Too similar to be a coincidence, right?

Lying on his back on the hard wood pallet, head on his hands, he stared at the pale moonlight bleeding through the window. 'Window' was being a bit generous; it was more of a slit in the wall. Narrow, barred, so high he could've stood on tiptoes and barely brushed it with his fingertips. But at least it was big enough to let in that light. He supposed he was lucky. Between the sliver of moonlight and the sputtering candle in the hallway past the wall of bars, he was bloody spoiled. He didn't know exactly where they were sending him tomorrow, but he had a pretty strong hunch that it would be dark. The kind of dark that drove men mad. Maybe the madness would get him before the bloody great beast in the tunnels got the chance.

Seemed a bit off, really. Putting him in the dingy dungeon when he bloody volunteered for this. Maybe they thought he'd change his mind and leg it in the night. Any half-sensible person would, wouldn't they? No one had ever given Charles an earful for having common sense, though. Usually the opposite.

No running away for him, that's for sure. He was bedded down for the night, just him and a handful of snoring cellmates. Despite the panic and crying, the six other lads had managed to drift into some kind of sleep, however uneasy. Not Charles, though. Too much on his mind. The stupid idea that brought him here in the first place. The near certainty that he'd fail, in the end, and he’d have no one but himself to blame for his bloody demise.

Wasn’t all bleak thoughts, though. After all, there was always him.

The prince.

He closed his eyes, letting it all play out in his head again. Stepping off the boat, being 'greeted' (shackled and marched to the dungeons) by the 'welcoming committee’ (royal guard). Him and thirteen other boys and girls, thanked like heroes and handled like criminals. The king in all his fancy regalia, booming his solemn gratitude to the brave youths for their sacrifice — as if any one of them but Charles had any choice in it. And standing there, at the king's back...

Look, Charles may have had more important things to think about, but he knew a fit lad when he saw one.

Fit didn't even cover it. The boy was just about the most gorgeous thing Charles had ever seen — or ever would see. Unless he spotted a prettier one before he died tomorrow, that is. Bit unlikely.

There was just something about him, the prince. Charles wasn't even into the posh sort, generally. Like with the more well-to-do lads from his own town — something about the baked-in entitlement soured them. Made them ugly, even if they were objectively alright looking. He could smile politely and play nice, but he’d sooner kiss a frog than a rich merchant’s kid. And a prince was a pretty big step up from a merchant's son, wasn't he? By rights he ought to be even worse. Charles probably didn't even register as a human to him. He wasn’t worth wasting a thought on.

Except Charles could still picture him perfectly, in his head. He could play out the whole welcome start to finish. How Charles' heart, all shrivelled in fear, had jumpstarted soon as he clapped eyes on the prince.

"Charles..."

He'd had dark hair all perfectly combed into an inky shine, almost prettier than the gold crown on top of it. Eyes like sea glass, clear and green and shining with a cunning light; eyes that had scanned the line of offerings and landed on Charles. Fixed him with such an intense, curious scrutiny he'd actually felt himself blush.

Hadn't Charles seen him somewhere before? That chin, that nose, those high cheekbones? He could've sworn he'd walked past him at a temple somewhere, carved from pristine marble. He could see him so clearly in his mind's eye, surely he must've known him all his life.

"Charles...?"

If he concentrated, really concentrated, he could even hear his voice...

"Charles Rowland!"

Blimey, that was scary. That sounded real.

Charles blinked his eyes open and frowned. He let his head flop to the side and looked across the cell, where the stone wall gave way to bars.

There, framed by iron and flickering candlelight, there he stood. Pretty as a picture — baffling as a dream.

Charles sat up, slow, cautious. He almost said something proper stupid, like 'what's a nice boy like you doing in a dungeon like this?'

"Um," he fumbled. "Evenin'?"

Mm. Not much better, really, was it?

"Evening, your highness?" he corrected himself, with a wince. Gods, his old man would've walloped him good and proper for talking to a royal like that.

Prince Edwin, however, didn't sneer or snap or even walk away. It was hard to see his face, at a distance in the gloom, but he almost looked amused. Charles thought he could see the barest shadow of a lifted lip, anyway.

"Good evening," said the prince. He said it so quiet, barely above a whisper, but his crisp tone carried regardless. He cocked his head slightly and beckoned with a finger. "Might I have a word?"

Charles glanced behind himself. Just on the off-chance there was another Charles Rowland he didn't know about squeezed onto the narrow bed with him. There wasn't, obviously, and he was a good few feet from any of his sleeping cellmates. No mistaking who the prince was after. He swallowed, stood up, and crept across the uneven flagstones, stepping over the sprawled legs of another boy.

As he neared, as the situation sank in and the prince came into focus, a new bundle of nerves started kicking off. Nothing like the anxious dread that had been stewing in his gut all night, the 'oh, gods, they're feeding me to a monster in the morning' nerves. No, this was different. More familiar but also, weirdly, worse than the monster dread. Fuck, but this lad was gorgeous. Not even the dungeon gloom could hide it. He was almost blinding to look at — and now those clever eyes were fixed right on Charles, no one else. Nowhere to hide. Fuck, Charles probably had sweat and cellar grime all over his face, and all!

Charles came to a standstill, toes almost touching the bars. Up close, he could see that him and the prince were about the same height. Edwin might've had the advantage by an inch or so, but maybe that was just his perfect posture. Spine straight and shoulders back, he regarded Charles with his head curiously cocked and his hands steepled. For a royal, he wasn't dressed all that flashy. Hadn't gone in for any jewellery besides the gilded circlet on his head. And under the blue silk chlamys clasped at his shoulder, his chiton was a simple white, clean and sharp and draped neatly to knee length. Expensive, pristine, put-together, but not exactly ostentatious. Mind you, that's just the sliver of outfit that Charles could see — because the prince had topped the whole thing off with a thick, practical brown cloak. A peacock disguised as a pigeon.

After a moment's quiet contemplation, the prince finally spoke. "I'm told you volunteered," he said. He kept his voice down, but it stayed crisp and clear. Highborn through-and-through. Probably wasn't even capable of mumbling.

Charles supposed it was a bit unusual, but unusual enough to bring a prince skulking down to the dungeons? He reckoned he was right about Edwin's eyes, that cleverness in them — he wasn't just a pretty face under a crown. He wanted to know things. He was staring at Charles like he wanted to pick him apart, understand him.

"Yeah," Charles answered. He forced a grin. "Not my best idea."

The prince blinked and leaned a little closer, intrigued. "Why in the world would you volunteer for this?"

His attention was sort of a lot — but it felt... good. Charles wanted to keep it. Hold onto it. He wanted this clever, gorgeous lad to think he was the most fascinating thing in the room.

Charles shrugged. "I can fight. I can take a hit. Seemed like the right thing to do. The decent thing, yeah?"

Edwin narrowed his eyes. "You’d forfeit your life to... give the beast a fight for its food?"

Charles shifted on his feet. "Not... exactly."

The prince watched him, all expectant. Charles sighed.

"Years it's been going on," he said, barely a mumble — Edwin leaned a little closer still to listen. "Lads and lasses being packed off, fed to that thing to keep it happy. Not right, is it? And I thought, well..."

He'd thought a lot of things. He'd thought well, he was already getting the shit beaten out of him every other day, so what's a little mauling on top of it? He'd thought about being his father's son, with his father's temper, and how maybe that could be a good thing for once. He'd thought about how things could change for him if he came back — and about who would even miss him if he didn't. He'd thought of all those kids less deserving than him, sent miles from home to be ripped to shreds. Sent away from bright futures and families that loved them. Gentle types who'd never hurt a fly. Kids who'd never learned to take a beating. Kids who didn't have the anger to keep them alive. Kids who weren't monster enough to survive the real thing.

"I thought, well, I'm pretty good in a scrap," he said, brightly, plastering on a smile. "Pretty stubborn. Thought if I went down there, maybe I could..."

"Could what?"

Charles raised his eyebrows.

Edwin looked at him blankly.

Charles rolled his eyes, held up one hand, and punched his fist into it twice.

Edwin's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "You mean to... slay the minotaur?"

"Told you it wasn't my best idea," said Charles.

"You have a talent for understatement," said Edwin, a sharp hiss. His voice had quickened and thinned into a hushed, incredulous patter. "I'd go so far as to describe that idea as fatuous, hubristic, and downright suicidal!"

Charles snorted. "Yeah. Sounds about right." He leaned his shoulder against the bars, brought his face closer to the prince's — which was such a brilliant idea it immediately gave him a really, really bad one. So bad it was impossible to resist.

He gave him a lax, lopsided grin — the one that he could bring out back home to make the girls giggle. "Be good if it worked, though, wouldn't it?"

Coming onto a bloody prince like he was some blushing farm lad... well, it probably wasn't a worse idea than throwing himself into a minotaur's labyrinth, but it probably wasn't much better, either. But what did it matter? They couldn't punish him, could they — they were already feeding him to a monster in the morning. What did he have to lose? Why not take a crack at the handsome prince with the pretty eyes? Sod it, it was his last night on Earth.

Edwin, to Charles' immense glee, actually seemed to get a little pink in the face. His eyes darted away and back again. "Yes, well..." He cleared his throat and straightened his cloak with a sharp tug of the front. "Have you a plan? Tactics? A weapon, at the very least?"

"Um. Well. No, not really." He dropped his fist on the bars once, twice, mulling it over. "But, I have been told my smile's pretty disarming!"

If his clumsy flirting hadn't been enough to break through the regal composure, that would've done it. Edwin's mouth dropped open a little, his brows drawing close together as he stared at Charles in abject disbelief. "Dear gods," he said, voice light and brittle. "You're doomed."

Charles chuckled, resting his forehead against the bars. "Yeah. Suppose so. Won't go down without a fight though, eh?"

He looked up through his eyelashes and found Edwin still staring, lips parted just a bit. Fuck, he had nice lips. Kissable. Charles reckoned he’d miss kissing when he was dead. What was the sentence for stealing a kiss from a prince — was it worse than death by minotaur? He might be willing to risk it.

Edwin tore his gaze away and glanced down the hall, first one way, then the other. Furtive. He seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Charles," he whispered. "Are your cellmates all asleep?"

Pulse quickening, Charles forced his eyes away from the prettiest person in the room to have a glance at the others. Everyone looked the same as they had before. Same chorus of snores and soft breaths and muttered, whimpered nightmares. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon so."

"Right. Excellent." Edwin cleared his throat again and crowded closer to the bars.

Charles' heart was racing. He couldn't lean any closer to the bars than he already was but he wanted to. He didn't mean to, but he bit his lip, eyes flickering down to Edwin's mouth.

Edwin took another wary glance behind him, and tugged his cloak back. He reached inside. His hand closed around something under his arm and drew it out — something long and wrapped in leather.

Charles caught his breath.

"Take it," Edwin ordered, holding the hilt of the sword to the bars and looking Charles in the eye. "Quickly, and quietly."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He grabbed it, his fingers grazing Edwin's. Gods, he even had beautiful hands. Smooth on the back but a bit calloused on the pads. Didn't escape Charles' notice that the blade, though heavy, seemed to be a familiar weight in his hands.

"Cheers, mate," Charles breathed, drawing the cumbersome thing through the gap. If he was careful, he reckoned he could stash it under his thin cloak without anyone knowing.

He hadn't meant to call the gorgeous boy (who also happened to be fucking royalty) mate, but if Edwin was offended he didn't show it. In fact he ducked his head in a bashful little dip. It was so endearing Charles had to do another quick pros-and-cons list in his head about the risks of snogging him through the bars.

"Well," said Edwin, a forced lightness in his tone. "If you must embark upon this fool's errand, you must have the proper equipment."

Charles let out a ragged breath. "Thank you," he said, sincere, as he slid the scabbard through his belt. He laughed a little, rubbing the back of his head. "To be honest, I've... I've never been more scared in my life."

Edwin's shrewd gaze softened. His whole face did. It actually bowled Charles over a little bit, the difference. He felt like he ought to look away, like he was seeing something he shouldn't. A prince shouldn't be looking at him like that. Not him. Like he was something special. Something he was in awe of. "I can only imagine."

Charles bit his lip. "Less scared, now," he said, fidgeting with the hilt of the sword. Even though he felt a bit like he'd been flayed open and laid at the prince's feet, he still managed a wink. "Reckon I'll show that big bugger what's what with this thing, don't you?"

The prince’s eyes twinkled over his small, indulgent smile. "Oddly enough... yes. I believe you just might." He seemed to catch himself, a pretty blush high on his cheeks as he schooled his expression back into something a bit more lofty. "And quite a feather in your cap it will be. That beast has been a thorn in my father's side for years, holding the kingdom to ransom."

Edwin's gaze flickered over Charles, head to toe, and the pretty blush deepened. "If you were to end its reign of terror, you'd be more than deserving of a handsome reward."

"Oh, yeah?" said Charles. If he sounded breathless, it's 'cause he was. "What sort of reward?"

He felt dazed. He must've been dreaming. Five minutes ago he was accepting his fate, and now he'd been brought a fighting chance. By a gorgeous prince. Who was fucking flirting with him. They must've knocked his head on the bars when they shoved him in the cell — he was probably lying in the corner, drooling and babbling.

Edwin's eyes were restless, darting from Charles' face to his feet. His throat bobbed around a dry swallow. He looked too real to be a dream — but also too good to be true. His hand lifted, fingers resting on an iron bar between them.

"Well," he said, sounding pretty bloody breathless himself. "You could take your pick."

If this wasn't a dream, it was definitely a trick. Some rich kid teasing him, waiting to pull away at the last second and laugh at him for being so easy to string along. Or waiting for an excuse to run to his daddy and bag Charles a fate worse than death for getting fresh with him.

Except for whatever reason, he didn't believe that. Couldn't. For some reason, he trusted Edwin. Felt like he knew him. Like he'd always known him. And he knew he was kind. Not necessarily nice, but kind. For whatever reason he knew Edwin wasn't the sort to mess around with someone's feelings — or pretend to be interested when he wasn't.

Why he'd be interested in Charles of all people was another thing, but... sod it. Charles was probably gonna die tomorrow, anyway. Why not pretend it was possible for a minute? What the fuck did he have to lose?

Feeling once again like the undisputed king of bad decisions, Charles took a breath, and put his hand on top of Edwin's. He almost couldn't believe his luck when Edwin didn't pull away. His hand was soft — like the little gasp he let out when their skin touched.

Swallowing past his dry mouth, Charles laced their fingers. He let them lay there, woven on the bars; the warp and weft of it felt so right he wondered how they hadn't been doing this for years. How'd he gone this long, not realising how empty his hands were without Edwin's tangled up inside them?

He looked at Edwin's face and saw all his own thoughts reflected. Saw Edwin staring at their hands like they were a bloody marvel. Like the last piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. His face was so open, so alive — so gently amazed and Charles had never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.

Charles laughed, quiet, awed. "Handsome prize, alright."

That earned him another quick, coy duck of Edwin's head — but Charles could see him preening clear as day. "Be sure you're alive to claim it," he said, soft and serious. He squeezed Charles' hand once before breaking the hold.

Charles sketched a lazy salute to distract his hand from how empty it felt. "No dying. Right-o."

Edwin smiled. A proper smile; a quick flash of teeth breaking through his tight-lipped, regal composure. Charles would've fought the bloody titans to get another glimpse of it.

"You are... odd," said Edwin, matter-of-factly. "And quite mad, I suspect."

"...Cheers?"

Humming, Edwin reached into his cloak once more. "There is just one other thing..."

He brought out something small from a pouch at his waist. Something round, with a leather cord threaded through the middle and tied off in a loop. Edwin held it aloft, thumb and forefinger pinched through the handle. The little round something glowed silky gold in the candlelight, and Charles squinted at it.

"...String?" he asked.

Edwin nodded, reaching into the cell to take Charles' hand and draw it through the bars. His touch lingered as he placed the generous clew of fine, shimmering string in Charles' palm.

"I had the idea that if you were to unspool it behind you, perhaps you might be able to navigate the labyrinth with greater ease." Head bowed, he looked at Charles through his lashes. Pretty, fluttering things they were, charcoal black. "So that when you slay the beast, you might find your way back."

Charles gawped at him. "Mate. That's proper smart."

Edwin preened again — actually, he preened more than he had when Charles' complimented his looks. Handy to know. "Yes, I thought it rather a sensible idea. I spun it myself; I’ve been experimenting with the tensile strengths of different fibres. It shan’t break."

Charles grinned, closing his hand around the clew — and Edwin's fingers, too. "Brains and beauty, eh?" he said. "Where've you been all my life?"

Edwin went pinker, his eyes twinkled. Warmer than the candlelight, brighter than the moon.

Charles would have to offer up a prayer tonight to any god who might be listening. He'd do anything, give them anything, if they only promised to get him through tomorrow alive. He needed at least a thousand more days ahead of him, just to spend finding more and ingenious ways of making this boy smile at him.

Soon, too soon, Edwin sighed, reluctantly extricating his hand from Charles'. "I must go," he said, apologetic. "Questions will be asked if I'm discovered down here in the dead of night."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course." Charles let his hand fall to his side, clenching it around the thread — still warm from Edwin's hand. He laughed, softly. "Well, um. Thanks for... dropping in?"

"And thank you for your discretion," said Edwin, raising his eyebrows as he drew his cloak back around him. "I'm sure I need not impress upon you the fact that I was never here."

Charles mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Good. Very good." Edwin shifted his weight between his feet a moment, finger lifting, mouth opening as if he had more to say. But whatever it was, he thought better of it. He drew his hands into fists in front of him, pressed together knuckle to knuckle, and offered a tight smile instead. "Well... best of luck, Charles Rowland. I truly hope you find fortune on your side."

With a stiff bob of his head, he turned fluidly on his heel to walk away. And it hit Charles again, hard, right between the eyes. The possibility that tomorrow could be his last day alive. A few minutes ago, the idea hadn't bothered him much.

Fuck. It bothered him, now.

"Edwin," he said, almost losing control of his volume as desperation sunk its hooks into him. He grabbed the bars, white-knuckled. "Edwin, wait —"

And he did. He waited, his back to Charles, his posture so, so perfect. Still as a statue.

Charles swallowed. "Can..."

Edwin turned his head, just slightly.

Charles' courage abandoned him. He huffed, shaking his head. "Nah. Nothing."

Of course, if there's one thing Charles knew about Edwin by now, it was that he couldn't resist a mystery. He turned to face Charles, eyes bright and curious. "Is there something else you require?"

Charles forced a smile. "You've already given me two gifts, mate. Bit greedy to ask for another one, yeah?"

"Perhaps." Edwin paused, and took a cautious step closer. "But, between ourselves... I can see little harm in the asking."

Charles' grin bloomed into something more sincere, something real. "No standing on ceremony, eh?"

Edwin's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I hardly see the point. I think perhaps you and I might dispense with formalities."

"Right."

Well then. Why not? Last night on Earth, and all that.

Charles ducked his head, laughing softly at himself. "Well. I was gonna be a bit cheeky, actually. Ask you to gimme a kiss for luck. But I reckon that's a bit — mmf!"

Quick, quicker than Charles could've imagined, Edwin was right there; reaching through the bars, taking Charles' face in his hands, and pulling him into a bruising kiss.They were lucky neither of them broke their noses against the iron strips.

Charles startled, gasped, so blindsided he didn't even know what to do with his hands — so he ended up just sort of clinging onto the bars. But soon enough his eyes fluttered closed, his breath rushed out of him and he melted. He kept his grip on the bars, though, holding on tight just to keep his knees from buckling. Edwin's lips were soft, and hotter than fire. His kiss was clumsy and overeager and not even slightly what Charles would've expected from someone so elegant, so refined. But he tasted of honey and home and Charles could've got lost in him, happily. Charles felt like he'd been shoved against the wall and plundered, in the best possible way. He felt like Edwin was everywhere, filling his senses. Hard not to feel wrapped up in him, with the way Edwin had his hands cupped round Charles' face, covetous and claiming. Like Charles belonged to him.

Fuck, maybe he did. Maybe he always had.

Edwin broke the kiss, but he didn't let Charles go. Just pulled back a little, still framing Charles' face with his fingers. His eyes were dark, hooded, his pretty eyelashes fluttering as he stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb. Face flushed, breathing hot and fast, gazing at Charles like he could devour him with his eyes. Charles shivered under the possessive weight of his gaze. He felt seen, admired, treasured. He felt owned.

He wanted more. More, more, until he suffocated under it.

Edwin took a shuddering inhale. "Come back to me," he said. And just because his voice was high and wavering with feeling didn't make it any less commanding. It wasn't a request; it was an order.

Charles nodded, in a daze. "I will," he promised.

He was as surprised as anyone to find he actually meant it.

Edwin nodded, and pulled him in close once more. Quick as you like, for just one more kiss — this one dry and fleeting, almost chaste. Bit of a departure from the one before, but somehow all the more devastating. Charles could feel Edwin's palms against his jaw, pressing so tight they ought to bruise. He hoped they would. A sword and a string weren't enough; he wanted everything Edwin could give him. Every tangible reminder that this was real, wasn't just a mad dream.

When that kiss broke, so did Edwin's hold. When he stepped away, he went all the way. And with one last lingering, longing look, he was gone, fading into the night. A mirage. A ghost.

And like a broken amphora, Charles remained right where Edwin had left him. Off-kilter, rooted to the spot. His outer shell shattered; his insides pooling at his feet for all to see.

~

It would be a sombre morning, just as the others had been. A familiar and predictable tragedy; as it always was, and always shall be.

At dawn's early light, just as they always had, seven young men and seven young women would be led — marched, bullied, carried — to the mouth of the labyrinth. There, the trembling gathering would be ushered into the embrace of the earth and stone. Pushed by the merciless hands of a royal guard, who'd long learned to look past the blood upon them.

But on this occasion, quite without the guards' knowledge, one youth would hang back from the crowd. From his cloak he would draw a small token, round and bright like a golden apple. A ball of fine yarn — spun in strong, beautiful fibres by strong, beautiful hands. He would find the end of the thread and fasten it, tightly, to an old iron ring within the threshold.

Then, with the clew unspooling from his fingers, painting a trail behind him like a steady drip of molten gold, he would walk into the jaws of death. Not with fear, not even with resignation, but with purpose. He was no hapless sacrifice, no tragic victim. He was a youth who'd grown accustomed to treading lightly through the dark, lest the monster in his house leap from the shadows. A youth with steel in his hand, and his own monster in his belly; a monstrous rage, and monstrous desire. A hunger to rival that of the minotaur’s.

A youth with a promise to keep in the dark; and a path waiting to lead him back to the light.

~~

A ball of thread is known as a clew or, in an alternative spelling, a clue. To this day, we talk about following the ‘clues’ to discover something, and it’s all thanks to the story of Theseus and Ariadne’s thread. — things I didn’t even know when I came up with this idea but make me insane… everything is connected… detective boys forever… Thanks for reading guys! You know I adore your comments 💛 and don't forget to give Robin's amazing gifs some love as well! Dunno if I'll get anything posted tomorrow, but if I do it'll either be something much shorter or maybe some sketches. I will defo see you for another fic on day 4, though! Any encouragement very much welcomed, it's been a rough couple of weeks💛 Painland Week Prompt List

[iambicpentameterhamster]

What i think of you based on your favourite Six of Crows character

Matthias Helvar:

You probably read a lot in the fantasy genre and take yourself too seriously (no offense) probably busy daydreaming about profound things and writing poems that you'll eventually delete. You love bleak and gritty stories and you listen to Coldplay, Conan Gray or The Tortured Poets Department. No shade though, you guys are probably great friends with value for loyalty. In summary, i think you're all either really intense and ernest or totally shy and quiet. You're probably heterosexual to be honest.

Nina Zenik:

I think people who's favourite is Nina don't tend to be much like her in real life, but are the type of people that would really want to befriend her. I'd say you're more introverted and quietly friendly, but then you act totally different and comfortable with the right friends. Technically disapproving of gossip, but turn into Regina George if the rumour is juicy enough- secretly judgemental but it all comes out to your best friends. You have a good sense of humour and probably quite a cynical/pessimist mindset overall. I know you like campy films like Legally Blonde and Clueless. Oh, and your favourite subject is definately history.

Inej Ghafta:

If you're drawn to the steady and honest beat of Inej's thoughts, I think you're quite an anxious or scattered person who enjoys how safe and comforting she feels as a character. I'd say you're a sensitive person with a keen eye for colour and art. Your favourite chapters in SOC are definately the backstory and romance chapters. You cry often at films and music and just when you feel bittersweet or happy. You have Hozier, Mitski or Radiohead on your playlists. You're either artsy smart or english smart, there's no way your a science/maths kinda person.

Wylan Van Eck:

This one is split. You're either one of those people that infantalises and simplifies his character and reduces both him and Jesper to their ship and nothing else, OR you're literally the best person ever. If you're the latter, you're probably super empathetic and appreciate depth as well as a good laugh, and i severley doubt you yourself enjoy maths and chemistry despite loving that look for Wylan. I've also never met a Wylan stan who wasn't a HARDCORE fan of SOC in general. You guys are the loudest complainers about Shadow and Bone being cancelled, and honestly, power to you. I bet your room is a bombsite right now too- pick up those dirty clothes, for christ sake.

Kaz Brekker:

All Kaz Brekker fans are somewhat infatuated with him. Your favourite chapters/scenes are absolutely the action and sexual tension scenes. All about high stakes and excitement, and you love to be surprised. That or you have a big thing for the bad boy trope. I think you have "dark achademia" or grunge-ey pinterest boards that don't match your real life style. I also think you think chess and piano are really sexy but play neither yourself. You and your friends probably read terrible Wattpad stories for a joke. Generally, you're somehow relaxed and simultaneously intense as fuck. 70% of you are Queer women/ nb people, other 30% are intensely heterosexual.

Jesper Fahey:

You have Queen on your playlist. Queen or Gorillaz. You're probably a quite casual person who is taken with Jesper's charm and humour, and you appreciate the comedic relief as you don't enjoy too much grit and heavy stuff with no humour breaks. But despite being not the most sensitive person in the world, Jesper's backstory caught you off guard and it HURT. I think you love comedies and action, you're decent at school and you're quite popular with a good circle of friends. A social person. Potential theatre kid, but minor roles/tech, and the only musical you really like is Hamilton lmao. You are generally a funny person, but you've definately experienced that moment where you tell a joke and nobody laughs.

Anybody else:

Non-existent.

OH AND ALSO, KAZ AND WYLAN FANS ARE THE ONES WHO WRITE ALL OF THE FANFICTION

[sturn-wrld]

🪼show me

pairing: matt x reader

summary: where reader shows matt how sorry she is

genre: angst + smut and some fluff at the end

warnings: SMUT don't read if that makes you uncomfortable!!!!

requested: yes - anon

a/n: i love this request so much but i'm scared I haven't done it justice.

masterlist

---------------------------------------------------------

you had always been the type to stress over everything. You had a paper due, stressed. you had to clean your house, stressed. you had to go to sleep, stressed. but you had never really let it interfere with your relationships and how you acted.

despite this, you had recently been more annoyed with everything including, your boyfriend. he was incredibly understanding when it came to your stress problems and would always help you through it but with upcoming yearly exams and a boat load of extra stress, your life was stress and you didn't know how to communicate this properly to one of the best people in your life.

"hey love" matt says walking into your front door.

"hi" you say in return with a more bleak tone

matt looked at you confused as you weren't in your normal cheerful mood that seemed to take over your body when he was around.

"what's up beautiful?"

"nothing" you mumble not wanting to explain yourself in fear you couldn't find the right words

"baby, i know there is something wrong but just know i'm here to talk when you're ready" he said leaning into you to cuddle with you but when you don't even look at him in response he realises there is something severely wrong as this is definitely not you.

"beautiful, i don't want to push you but are you sure there is nothing wrong because you're not your normal self right now and i can tell" your amazing boyfriend says staring into your eyes to try and decide what is happening through your eyes.

"if you don't want to push me how about you just shut the fuck up then and leave me alone" you say in a random moment of anger as you storm out of your living room leaving matt on the couch extremely confused.

as matt sits on the couch of your living room wondering where he went wrong in the conversation you sit in your room in tears knowing that you most likely just ruined the best thing you have ever had.

as you escape the grip of your depression hole of a room and make your way back to the living room to try and salvage what might have survived the shattering storm that you just ripped across your boyfriends heart and you try to glue the words together in your head to not fuck up worse.

"babe?" you question as you walk into the living room hoping that matt hadn't left yet.

"yes?" he questions bleakly looking up to you as you walked in.

"i'm so so sorry about what i said. i've been really stressed lately and i just haven't wanted to talk to anyone. i am really so sorry. how can i make it up to you?" you say as you sit next to him on your couch.

"oh baby, do you up want to show me how sorry you are?" he looks at you deeply with his beautiful blue eyes.

you look up from your lap where you had looked to see your boyfriends look of desire before looking to his lap to see his hard on against his pants.

"i would love to" you say returning with the same level of desire in your voice and getting onto your knees in front of him.

"oh yeah, show me how sorry you are"

and with that you undo his belt before yanking down his pants to see his hard cock pressing against his boxers. you start to feel him through his boxers as his hands reach your face and hair gently tugging every once and a while.

"come on baby stop teasing" was the last thing he said before you pulled down his boxers to reveal his massive dick right in front of your face.

you started by kitten licking the pre-cum from his tip before licking up and down the shaft. his hands were now intertwined fully in your hair. after licking up the shaft a few times you fully engulfed his dick in your mouth, receiving a low grunt from the sudden contact of your throat.

as you continued on bobbing and sucking you felt his dick twitch in your mouth signalling he was going to cum. but before you could taste his sweet and salty juices he pulled you up to his eye level.

"thank you baby come here." he says pulling you onto his lap.

as you sat on his lap he started kissing you passionately as you grind down on his lap.

"gorgeous i'm so impatient take of your clothes" his wish was your command.

you started stripping of your clothes at godly rates wanting nothing more than him inside of you.

once you had fully stripped he flipped you so now he was on top kissing kisses down you're neck and into the valley of your breasts taking the left one into his mouth. you moaned out at the feeling of this.

"you like that baby girl?"

you nodded in response.

he started to kiss you again slowly rubbing up and down your thighs before coming in contact with your clit in which you arched your back and moaned the most unholy moan possible.

"baby i need you so bad right now" you said as he continued

"ok baby" he said as he suddenly pushed his massive cock inside of you with a low groan.

"oh my fucking god matt that feels so good" you moaned out as he continued to stretch you out.

"i'm gonna move faster now baby" he said warning you before he pounded into at speeds you were unready for.

as he slammed into you, you started clawing at his back which caused him to go impossibly faster.

"i'm about to cum. keep going" you screamed before undoing all over his cock.

"that's my good girl" he said admiring your beautiful face as he helped you come down from your high.

"i'm so sorry again baby" you said laying next to him on the couch

"it's alright beautiful. i love you."

"love you too"

[blooberrries]

『monday misery』 — yuji

— pairing: yuji x reader — genre: college/university au, slight crack — wc: 1.7k — rated: sfw — notes: when inspiration strikes you gotta follow it ya know. this cracked me up more than it probably should have

prompt: I don't know why you've got a ferret on a leash but at least I've stopped crying on public transportation to watch that lil guy go

The tears are still damp on your cheeks, another set budding and ready to go, when you see it. Something small, something wriggly, something wormy.

Something that has absolutely no business being on the 8AM train into the city central.

Just moments ago it felt like the world could come to a crumbling end around you, and you’d embrace it all while sitting there and doing nothing but emptying your tear ducts of every single drop of moisture they could spare. You literally could not imagine a single event that would have stopped your exhaustion and assignment deadline-fueled weeping. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you just kept on crying, forever. The future was bleak and not set to look up anytime soon with an 8.30AM lecture looming on the horizon.

But this… this is a variable you never could have predicted.

The sheer lunacy of it has stopped your tears in their tracks, and now you’re watching the poor guy sitting across from you like he’s an animal in a zoo. He has noticed, and it has made him sweat. A large hand comes to scratch the back of his neck, fingers ruffling the two-toned hair. The cherry-blossom mop atop his head really only adds to the comedy of what you’re witnessing.

Something is worming around under this man’s clothes. Which, you have to admit, does sound like a poor excuse to be drilling holes into him right now with your eyes – but that’s not it! You saw something poke out earlier. Something furry, with beady eyes and such rapid twitching head movements you’d swear the thing was on crack.

It’s a fucking ferret.

The worst part is, no one else around you has even noticed! Or maybe they don’t care. Truthfully, they seem to be giving this guy a wide berth— and you for that matter, being across from him and all that. Or maybe it was the silent weeping and looking out the window like you’re in your own early 2000s music video. There’s no way to know.

To his credit, cherry guy looks embarrassed. Good. You don’t want him thinking it’s anything normal to tote around a ferret in the quiet carriage, like some noodle-shaped teacup dog. The only way he could get away with it is if he at least had one of those exorbitant handbags he was keeping it in. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like any vessel on this green earth, luxury or otherwise, could keep this tiny demon contained.

Your eyes burn in the aftermath of your sleep deprivation and crying spell as you watch the man try and push the ferret’s head back into hiding, and the little mongrel, without even a split-second of hesitation, chomps down on the closest finger. Cherry guy whimpers, eyes slipping closed in something akin to defeat and resignation.

At this point you’re beginning to feel that he didn’t bring the ferret, but instead the ferret brought him.

A few minutes is what it takes for cherry guy to gather the strewn shreds of his pride. When he opens his eyes next, their chocolate hues meet your own. He leans forward a little, as much as he can without the hell noodle slipping loose from his cotton prison, and whispers ever so softly across the space.

“His name is Mahito.”

You frown, and can physically feel your eyebrows scrunching together like it was a crime they had ever been apart. “What, like the drink?”

Apparently you hadn’t asked that as quietly as you’d thought, because you get shushed by someone three seats down right after. Wait– three seats? There’s no way they’ve all moved even further away.

Cherry guy looks like he is seriously contemplating the question, and you wonder if the ferret is even his or just some poor animal he snatched off the streets. “… No. Probably… not.”

You stare at him, sniffling. Your face is almost entirely dry now, skin feeling tight instead of damp. “Uh-huh.”

Steadily, the man’s face begins to flush as mortification warms his sun-kissed skin. Silence beats painfully on between you. Eventually, you break it.

“So, uh. You do this often? Carry around a ferret in your shirt?”

The flush spreads to cherry guy’s ears. “Um, no. That would be weird.”

You incline your head, lips pressed firmly together so you don’t let a laugh slip and make him feel worse. “Indeed.”

“He’s not mine,” he blurts suddenly, and like the ferret has a flourishing vocabulary and outstanding comprehension of the human language, he rips out of the bottom of cherry guy’s shirt and sinks his teeth into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger in retribution. You wince, and the poor man has to cram his fist to his mouth at the speed of light to muffle the slew of profanity that begins to escape.

A few moments full of deep, meditative breathing later, he lowers his fist and scowls at the ferret that is only now removing his jaw from the tender flesh of his hand. He hisses lowly, shaking out his hand. “You little rat bastard. Just you wait till we get home and Sukuna finds out you snuck into my backpack again. You’re gonna get sent to macaroni prison for sure.”

You raise your brows. Ah, so that’s what must have happened. That actually explains a lot. You can’t help your smile now. “What a darling little angel.”

Cherry guy’s head snaps up to shoot you an incredulous– nay, borderline affronted look. “He’s awful, truly. Actual hellspawn. I have to buy a new gaming headset every other week because the little monster chews through the cords so often. I tried keeping my door locked while I was out but the little bastard just turns his body to liquid or something and worms his way under.”

A strangled sound escapes you when you barely manage to lock down your laugh in time. Cherry guy continues, apparently needing to vent about the foot-long menace more than he’d anticipated.

“My brother actually already replaced his door with one that doesn’t have a big gap at the bottom, but he keeps refusing to do it for mine every time I ask because he thinks it’s funny that his little agent of rat chaos eats through half my stuff on the daily.” He huffs, glaring at the wriggling noodle that he has now trapped in his hold. An older woman gives a very strongly disapproving look from four seats down before returning to her killer sudoku. “I have not known peace since he has entered the house.”

You wince, feeling a little sympathetic. “Damn. How long has your brother had him?”

You expect it to be an awful long time, based on how burdened this man seems to be by the mere existence of this ferret. His answer makes you physically bite down your reaction, your entire body tensing from the effort.

“Uh, a month or two.”

Yikes. You’re scared to think of what the rodent might do once he’s actually settled in.

Silence settles between the two of you once more, broken the chime of the conductor’s voice echoing over the speakers as you come one stop closer to the city. A few people disembark, including the lady that gave the stink eye earlier. She does it again as she steps off, and cherry guy shrinks into his seat. The doors close, and once more silence falls, though more comfortable than the first time.

A while later, the man shifts, a complete contradiction to the tornado of movement that the creature in his hand is doing. The noises escaping the little thing are hard to ignore, and even harder to keep a straight face at.

“What, uh… what were you crying about?”

You blink at him as your gaze returns from the window. You’d actually forgotten you were crying earlier, which is pretty funny considering at the time you were acting like the world was about to end for a solid fifteen minutes at least.

“Oh,” you say. It’s your turn to flush a bit in embarrassment. “Uni assignment, due today. There was a spillage and, um, that doesn’t tend to bode well for artwork on paper.”

Cherry guy winces. “My condolences.”

You nod, allowing a moment of silence for the work of art your assignment could have been, before speaking again. “Thanks… and, well, that’s one good deed your little hellspawn has done. Seeing him wriggling around under there like he was about to burst from your chest definitely distracted me from my existential crisis.”

Cherry guy hums, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Okay. I guess I’ll put in a good word for him when we get home.”

You smile, whatever you were about to say next interrupted by the chime of the conductor announcing your next stop to be the destination you need to get to campus. Out of habit, you gather your things and stand, before pausing and turning your gaze to the pink-haired man still seated and wrangling a chaos being with the viscosity of YouTube slime. After having another look at him, it’s clear he’s a fellow university student. You’re guessing he was on his way to his classes when he discovered the stowaway in his bag. No doubt he now has to head back home and drop the ferret off before doubling back for his own classes.

You have a lecture at 8.30AM, but to be honest… you don’t want to spend the rest of the day miserable and mourning your assignment from the get-go. Talking with this random guy about his ratchet ferret has completely cancelled out your earlier feelings of angst, and it’s… nice. You kind of want to return the favour and help distract him from his misery.

The doors begin to shut, and the pink-haired man looks up in alarm as he notices you’re still here. “Wait, won’t you–“

“Yeah,” you say, swivelling on the spot and plopping down right next to him. You turn your head with a smile. “But that’s okay. Gotta look after my mental health and all, you know?”

He blinks at you for a second, before a warm smile breaks onto his face. He’s handsome, you notice from this close up. Almost painfully so.

“Yuji,” he says, by way of introduction. You return with your own name, and he beams wider. “Wanna hear about the time Mahito got into a fight with my brother’s other ferret Jogo?”

“Absolutely.”

[allwormdiet]

Arc 1: Gestation, Concluding Thoughts

Two days in the life of Taylor Hebert, with a bonus one night in the life of Danny Hebert. Let's break it down.

Right now, initial feelings are really positive. I like this arc, I get why people are in on this in such a hardcore fashion, like it's making sense to me as I'm reading it. The characterization is really strong, the A to B plot is cool, and the first fight scene was a fucking banger to open up with.

And like, shit, I get why Taylor is throwing herself into cape life, right? Civilian life is already such fucking misery for her, utterly alone and the only person who's theoretically in her corner is sympathetic but just as helpless as she is. Yeah sure, mortal peril, but if she had nothing to do I feel like the bullying would've killed her eventually. Death versus Lung is at least marginally more noble than death by Emma. And isn't that fucking bleak.

Looking ahead a little bit towards Arc 2 and I'm immensely curious how long it'll take Taylor to do cape stuff again. I feel like I'd need a solid month to process the whole "near death experience" thing and then spend time sweating over whether I even put the mask on ever again. Meanwhile I wouldn't be surprised if Taylor went back out in like a week, because she's a hardcore maniac.

It's also very interesting looking at this and considering the exact sequence of events that went through these chapters. If the bullies didn't wreck Taylor's notebook, or if Taylor took a different message away from its destruction, there might be one or more dead Undersiders right now, and to a lesser extent Armsmaster wouldn't both get credit for a major capture and also owe this rookie hero a favor. Both of those things are going to matter a lot, and it's, I dunno, some people would call that contrived but real life is so full of weird coincidence and happenstance I can buy this no problem.

...Honestly now I get why so many AUs that diverge before this point still include the Lung fight and the Undersiders and Armsmaster meetings, like yeah at that point it's contrivance but I'm not going to sweat an author too hard because they don't want to figure out how fucking dramatic the butterfly effect (hah, butterfly) would be on the rest of the story. Like yeah it's contrived, but that's a lot of work they'd have to do otherwise.

That aside, I'm gonna get back on topic and meditate on my current gripes. 1.3 was a legitimate low point in this arc with the description of the Docks and its residents and their circumstances, and the total clusterfuck of the Azn Bad Boys, which. By the by this is the last time I'm going to say the full name of that gang, ABB is shorter and is less embarrassing for everybody involved. Wall-to-wall racism, classism, and an utter lack of sympathy for the lesser-thans. Like we're talking about crack whores in the year of our lord 2011, or, they were written about in 2011 and I'm hollering about it on the internet in 2024. When this kind of thing comes back up (when, not if, I'm not that optimistic) I just hope I can work around it, like eating everything but the bruise on an apple.

To close this out, I'm thinking about the people in Taylor's life. Emma, a former friend turned bully, and her cronies Madison and Sophia. Pretty shallow characterization at this point, just that they're cruel to the point of hospitalizing their victim. Danny Hebert is supportive, but has all the strength of a sponge when it comes to holding up against the pressures that weigh on Taylor, and he knows it but he's not doing anything differently. The Undersiders, criminals who mistake Taylor for a criminal, but identify her correctly as a comrade and potential friend, who realize she was fighting for them and went to fight for her. Armsmaster, who offers her very genuine and very sought-after praise as an authority figure, and then leans on that authority to get what he wants out of a freshly traumatized and exhausted teenager.

Is it any wonder that Taylor takes the path that she does? Would anyone have it in them to be surprised if they could see all of this from a bird's eye view?

I wonder if Armsmaster ever thinks back about this night, lying awake in bed. If he ever wonders what he could or should have done differently, or if he couldn't have done anything to divert course.

I was talking to my girlfriend about something related to this the other night, actually. If it's worse in a tragedy for there to have been a chance to avert it all, or if it's worse for the end to be inevitable. Looking at Taylor, looking at Brockton Bay, looking at Earth Bet? I dunno. If someone had acted early, with knowledge and intention sufficient to actually provide aid, maybe it would've been enough, but hell. Maybe not. I don’t know which possibility is more damning.

...I get melancholy when it's late, but I don't think it'd be right to delete all that; it's how I'm feeling about the novel, and that's what this blog is for, so even if it's a bit dramatic it'd be self-defeating to pretend I didn't say it.

Arc 2... probably starts tomorrow, assuming nothing comes up. Glad to say I'm looking forward to it.

[jazeswhbhaven]

An Unlighty Guy | React | Spoilers

I decided to wait and do day four and five together because these mini parts are so short.

Another "sunny" day in Gehenna where there's nothing but fucking angels coming in here and screwing up things as per usual. I'd still like to know why it is that they attack Gehenna so frequently...like do they just have beef with Satan that badly?

I feel like this was explained in either the Halloween event from last year....or chapter one but I digress.

Anyways the units are out fighting and then they spy this little adorable soul that I will be adopting

Like??? I know at a certain age any devil can possibly sign up to fight for Satan's army but he's clearly young based on his horn size and face. :( he's just a child.

We also find out that he's part of Amy's unit. The commando uniform is suppose to mimic Amy's/Satan's jumpsuit. So it's a wonder how this youngin' got separated from everyone.

Sitri is here to the rescue! So we see the details of the Iron Maiden, and we are aware of how it works based on the gameplay of the battles. I feel it's really cool the devs gave a sprite for it. I wish we had a sprite for the other weapons used for reference.

The angels are being stubborn meat shields, claiming it doesn't matter what he does but one thing about Sitri? He's gonna give it all he's got until he can't and that's one of the things I like about him.

And things are starting to look bleak, Sitri getting bad wounds, thinking he should take refuge in the Iron Maiden if all else fails while protecting the young devil...he's prepared to give his life for Gehenna because that's what Satan would do and his purpose is similar if not the same.

Now here...I thought Sitri was going pale from blood loss and I was worried like??

Oh...I know that he means...

Here come Amy with his headass (aave for one who is foolish/stupid) self LMAO

I swear. And I call Amy foolish because of his pranks mostly lmao I actually don't think he's that stupid of a devil. Just to clarify. Also uhhh ya left ya boi here when he's part of your command like how you fumble that badly?

So Amy's unit pretty much killed the remaining angels, Amy goes to see why Sitri was there by himself and then he sees our boi and he's confused because well...he's one of his lol

Like yes my guy one of your bois are not with you and you're out here being all loud and bad for what? Left someone behind...

Sitri, within his right, is very upset about this. He goes on to reprimand Amy that he shouldn't of left his comrade out here by himself and wondered what it is that he was doing to even not notice that he did. It does come off as poor leadership. And this is one of the moments where we see the clear difference in how one leads. Sitri is pretty in the know of where his subordinates are and notices if someone is missing. Amy was being so rash and bold riding around with his commandos that he didn't notice the little one being left behind.

This that we also see, is that even though Amy apologized for not noticing, the devil boy in a nice way says that he doesn't accept his apology and that it's not a big deal. To him it was a big deal, he left him out there on his lonesome, he hasn't had his name stitched on his uniform yet and he's a rookie. So yes, he definitely needed guidance if this was his first time out on the field.

And it wasn't the fact that he was in danger, the boy was upset because Sitri was injured so badly protecting him.

Also Amy went to tell Satan about what happened, and this is one of times where we get to see how he deals out punishments. Satan was annoyed and basically...

I couldn't help but laugh. He literally said his ass wouldn't be kicked a month. Gehenna is truly fucking wild because getting kicked by their king is literally praise and something good like a pat on the back.

We know how hard Satan kicks, I'd secretly be happy he ain't kicking me around for the month cause then my ass can heal. ;w;

But anyways,

Amy's subordinates are trying to stick up for him, but he doesn't want that kind of sympathy right now. He keeps focused on the fact that in that moment he lost to Sitri by being the biggest "jerk" for what he did. That's also how he felt too. He had nothing to say, he couldn't defend himself nor his actions because he knew deep down he is responsible for all of his units and his men. He's a leader and in this moment he wasn't one. No matter how much disdain he holds for Sitri.

This is something I liked reading about because Amy was holding himself accountable instead of being up his own ass about it and saying it wasn't his fault. This is how we are aware that Amy doesn't just think about being the best, he wants to truly be the best he can and do right by himself, his unit, and most importantly Gehenna.

If he can't even do that, then what's the point of this beef he has with Sitri?

so remember how they say, if the person who always gets on to you never does anymore that's how you know you've lost them? this is true for platonic, romantic, and business relationships and I believe that phrase myself.

Sitri literally is ignoring him. He feels that incident was the worst possible thing he could have done and he had to step up risk his own life facing those angels all alone.

So here...I'd say sorry Amy stans but ya man's fucked up big time.

But it seems we're left with Sitri hearing some troubling news when he's almost done healing....

Let's see what awaits our blue haired boi on day 6!

Btw, how are ya'll liking the story so far? I've seen some good observations and reactions floating around ^^ but I was just curious.

Is this event a yay or nay? Or is it too early to tell...